Thank you for sticking by me for these misadventures of the boys. Today, we find out what happened with the last of the boys... perhaps his mishap is crazier than the others combined! One more chapter after today wraps up the story.

Athos: East

Athos relished the late morning sun warming his face as he rode east toward Meaux. He dipped his head to return a friendly greeting by a rider heading west to Paris, though he paid little attention to most other travelers.

A wagon bearing a couple and their young son soon approached, traveling west. Upon recognition of the King's Musketeer pauldron and the illustrious blue saddle blanket exclusive to the Musketeers, the young lad's eyes opened wide with admiration.

"Mama, it's a Musketeer… look!" the boy called out with excitement. "Bonjour, Monsieur… um, pardon me, Musketeer!" he corrected himself.

"Bonjour, young lad," Athos smiled and raised his hat to the boy, bowing slightly in the saddle.

"Did you see that, Papa?" The boy was elated, happily reporting the encounter to his parents. "The Musketeer smiled at me and said hello!" he cried out. "He said hello to me, Mama!"

"Au revoir, Monsieur… Musketeer!" the boy called. Athos raised his hat without turning around but continued riding on his way east.

In awe, the young lad turned around in his seat to watch Athos ride away until the Musketeer crested a hill then disappeared from view. "I want to be a Musketeer when I grow up," the boy said dreamily.

The Musketeer found himself thinking of Pinon as he passed by the scattered farms dotting the landscape. His brow wrinkled as he shook the memories from his mind, bringing himself back to the present. He noticed the village sign for Livry-Gargan just ahead but allowed his mind yet again to wander back in time.

"Livry-Gargan," Athos stated with amazement. "I've been by here numerous times yet I've failed to take notice of how much it reminds me of home."

His thoughts meandered back to La Fère and the days of his youth when he ran carefree through the fields of flowers and tall grass. He thought of his beautiful young wife, Anne, as they picnicked under their favorite tree; he also recalled chasing his wife through those same fields of flowers and tall grass.

Athos jumped when startled by a loud bleating call coming from the forest near the creek. "Whoa," the Musketeer called to Roger, pulling hard on the reins and bringing the horse to a stop in the middle of the road. He craned his neck, listening for the strange noise until at last he heard the crying sound once again from inside the tree line.

"What could that noise possibly be?" Athos dismounted then pulled Roger along by the reins as he followed the sound to the creek. "It sounds like. . ." his voice trailed.

"It sounds like… a goat?" Athos nearly laughed as he stood gawking at the distraught animal with its legs caught in the briers and brambles, stuck terribly in the mud of the creek's bank.

"Whoa there, little one," he whispered. Athos pulled the reins over Roger's head then let the horse meander to an especially supple area of tender green grass. Turning his attention to the goat, Athos approached the distressed animal very slowly and cautiously.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Athos soothed softly. "I'm just going to free you from that… predicament you're stuck in. Really, you have certainly gotten yourself into a fine mess for a goat," he muttered under his breath.

"What would the captain think of this?" he chuckled at the thought. "You do realize that you are distracting me from my mission at hand." Athos loosened the branches and briers from around the goat's feet. Frightened, the goat whipped his head around in a show of superiority by nearly impaling his rescuer with his horns; the Musketeer reflexively jumped back to avoid the goat's strike.

"Alright now," he growled, "if you want to be freed, dammit, then I suggest you settle down!" Athos paused to study the goat's feet still caught in the tangle of weeds and mud, trying to devise a safer plan of action to free the animal. "Aramis and Porthos would never believe this," he mumbled.

"Alright, I'm going to free your foot now," Athos reached to pull the goat's foot loose. "Steady boy," he soothed, keeping his eye constantly on the goat's head while pulling away the weeds.

"There, I think I got… ouch! You damnable creature!" Athos cursed as he pulled back his hand, now sporting small teeth marks on his wrist. "If we were closer to Paris, I think Serge would enjoy fresh meat for the men," he growled.

The Musketeer was finally able to pull the animal's legs free from the mire of brambles, "go on and go home now—you're free." Athos slapped the goat on his hind quarters, prompting him to dash back toward pasture where he belonged. "You're lucky I'm going elsewhere, you ungrateful…" he frowned at the bite marks on his hand.

"Indeed, what would the captain think?" Athos huffed with a disbelieving shake of the head. "I allowed a goat to distract me from my duty!"

Back on the road once again, Athos squinted as he looked up at the location of the sun. "I would venture to guess it's around noon," he patted Roger's neck. "We need to make up for lost time."

The Musketeer rode along, allowing his mind to wander again, but instantly perked up as he noticed black smoke rising from the next village.

"Make haste, Roger!" Athos kicked the horse into a run toward the village of Vaujours. As he neared the burning house, the Musketeer could hear the panicked screams for help rising above the crackling fire of the structure. A woman and her young servant girl noticed the Musketeer approaching on horseback and ran out to meet him.

"Please, Monsieur, my son… my little boy is still in there!" the woman screamed. "I couldn't find him… I couldn't find him! I couldn't find my Antoine; he's still in there! God please, won't you please help me!"

"You stay out here—don't you move!" Athos ordered the women as he jumped from his horse then ran to the burning house. The Musketeer paused by a puddle of water to wet a handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth then ran through the front door and into the inferno.

Athos's eyes immediately stung from the smoke, causing involuntary tears to spring and further blur his vision. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand but kept moving through the house, calling out for Antoine.

"Antoine! Antoine, can you hear me?" Athos yelled over the roar of the flames. "Answer me, dammit, Antoine… right now!" The Musketeer's ears perked at the sound of a faint cry coming from upstairs. "Hold on, Antoine, I'm coming!" Athos bellowed as he bounded up the stairs.

"Antoine, where are you?" the Musketeer rasped and coughed. Athos doubled over while still holding the handkerchief tightly over his face but found it increasingly more difficult to breathe, as though his lungs were also aflame.

"Please answer me, Antoine!" Athos pleaded. The call was rewarded with a desperate scream originating from a back bedroom, helping pinpoint the boy's hiding place. Stopping at a large, ornate wardrobe, the Musketeer opened it to find the frightened young boy huddled in the back corner.

"Come on, lad; let's get you out of here," Athos said as he gathered the boy in his arms then ran back in the direction he came. The pair was soon challenged by the nearness of the flames, mocking and daring their escape, while making forward progress cumbersome and slow. The Musketeer felt the heat of the fire taunting his body with sadistic pleasure and thought for a moment they were trapped in the very bowels of Hell.

"It's hot… we're gonna die!" the boy screamed as he fought against the arms holding him tight.

"Here, hold this over your nose and mouth." Athos handed the boy his handkerchief, leaving himself exposed to the smoky air. "Now close your eyes, son," he whispered soothingly. "Don't open your eyes again until I tell you, alright?" The boy nodded as the Musketeer hunkered low then ran for the stairs.

A loud crack! sounded just as part of the ceiling collapsed, bringing chunks of plaster and burning beams down around the duo in a rain of flaming debris. Athos reached out to steady himself on the stairs as a burning beam fell, landing squarely on his arm.

"Ah, damn," he cursed. Athos squirmed from under the beam, shaking it aside then pushing it away with his hand. The Musketeer wobbled as his vision greyed, "come on, damn you… move!" he ordered himself.

With renewed strength, the Musketeer ran down the remaining stairs then out the front door without stopping until he reached the yard. An enormous roar was heard as the roof caved in over the staircase, collapsing half of the house into a smoldering pile of rubble.

"Antoine!" The mother screamed as Athos appeared from the smoky haze coughing and wheezing, but safely carrying the young lad in his arms. "Oh, thank God! My baby… thank you! Thank you, Monsieur!" The woman grabbed her son then burst into tears as she kissed the boy, hugging him and rocking him in her arms.

The Musketeer fell to his knees, doubling over as he desperately gasped for breath. Athos coughed and gagged on the smoke choking the very air from his lungs and burning his throat raw.

"Adele, run and fetch this man some water from the well," the woman ordered her servant.

The smell of melted leather and burned hair and flesh filled Athos's nostrils, making his stomach turn. The Musketeer retched, bringing up the contents of his stomach mixed with black soot and particles of ash from his nose and throat. He coughed in between his urgent gulps for air, desperate to feed his burning lungs, but instead felt as though he was suffocating on the inside.

"Here, drink this water," the woman said as she held the cup to Athos's lips. He greedily drank from the cup, emptying the refreshing liquid in one gulp.

"More," Athos rasped. The woman dipped the cup into the small bucket of water then gave it to the Musketeer who drank it down more slowly, as though savoring the refreshing coolness as it slid down his parched throat. "One more," he handed the woman the empty cup. Taking the filled cup, he took a sip and swished the water around in his mouth; he gargled to remove the sooty grit from his mouth and his throat then spit the blackened water out into the grass.

"Thank you, Madame," Athos nodded as he sat back on his haunches, releasing a long breath. He cautiously took in a deep breath but instantly regretted it as he was wracked with a hacking coughing fit.

"Try another sip of water, it should help," Adele offered the Musketeer with a smile.

Athos's cough subsided as he sipped slowly on the water, "thank you, Mademoiselle." The Musketeer's coughing gave way to raspy shallow inhalations but gave it little thought; he was more than grateful to still be breathing.

"I must be going on my way," Athos grimaced with pain. "I have to complete my journey and make it to Meaux."

"But, Monsieur, you are in no condition to ride," the woman protested. "Why, your hand is burned… and so is your arm," she pointed to the melted leather sleeve.

"No, the leather protected my arm," Athos breathed out slowly. "My hand, however, might be a little singed."

"A little singed?" the woman huffed. "Really, this is no time for modesty, Monsieur! Let me apply an ointment and wrap your hand with a bandage before you go; I have some supplies in our servants quarters. Adele, would you please go fetch those supplies for me?"

"Oui, Madame."

"Please, let me care for you," the woman's eyes watered. "It is the least I can do to thank you for saving my son's life," she paused, her voice quivering. "If not for you, my Antoine would be dead. I owe you… I owe you more than I can ever repay."

"Your tending to my hand is payment enough, Madame," Athos smiled.

After Athos's hand was treated and wrapped, the Musketeer was finally on the road again heading toward his final destination. "What a journey this has been," he huffed with disgust.

The Musketeer rode with increasing discomfort as the pain in his hand steadily intensified from a dull ache to a constant throbbing. "Damn, I should have brought along a skin of wine. When I need wine there isn't any to be found," he rasped, his breath hissing in pain.

He sighed as he saw the small village of Claye-Souilly, knowing he was finally getting close to arriving in Meaux. As he approached the canal, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he became aware of a rustling noise coming from the line of trees.

Athos barely had time to reach for his pistol when a group of four bandits rushed from the trees on his left. The Musketeer shot one bandit in the chest, knocking him from his horse dead. He then reached for his main gauche and, in one smooth motion he threw the dagger as the second bandit rode toward him, hitting the man in the throat.

Athos ducked as the third bandit shot at him but missed. The missed shot was a perfect opportunity for the Musketeer to aim his second pistol at the man but, before he could pull the trigger, a sudden force from behind knocked him from the saddle.

The Musketeer was dazed but managed to pull himself up, though he swayed unsteadily on his feet. He stood with his sword in his bandaged hand and waited for the bandits to approach. Athos didn't have to wait long when one bandit lunged, deliberately aiming with wicked intent at the wounded man's arm.

Athos leapt backward to avoid the glimmering steel blade and parried the blow but clumsily stumbled, due to his growing dizziness. The zealous opponent made a spirited growl from deep within his throat as he lunged at Athos once again.

The Musketeer pivoted on his heel and whirled around, enabling him to unexpectedly grab the opponent by his collar; he pushed the man off balance then kicked him down to his knees. The bandit suddenly lashed around with his dagger in hand, aiming to wreak havoc on Athos's legs.

"Stay down, damn you!" Athos stepped aside to avoid the dagger's blade but then lunged forward with his sword, plunging his rapier deep into the man's back.

The Musketeer crumbled to his knees as thunder roared in his ears and his vision began to grey around the edges. Athos's eyes widened in surprise as he heard a wicked, cackling laugh from behind break through the fog in his consciousness; the volume of the laugh surpassed even the roaring in his ears.

The maniacal laugh continued with sadistic delight as victory was certain for the mystery bandit when Athos collapsed to the ground, overcome with debilitating weakness. Try as he might, the Musketeer's body would not cooperate. Paralyzed from lack of strength, Athos simply closed his eyes and waited for the death stroke to fall.

A shot rang out from the distance, cutting short the maniacal laugh in an instant. The sound of a body falling to the ground preceded the darkness creeping into Athos's awareness until all light and sound vanished into a black void. The Musketeer never felt his body fall face-first into the dirt next to the man who very nearly killed him.

Musketeer Garrison, Next Day:

Captain Tréville leaned against the balustrade of the balcony, watching his men in the courtyard below. He frowned at the two Musketeers sparring while a group of fellow Musketeers cheered on their favorite contestant. The men sparring looked sloppy and disinterested, as though they were simply going through the motions to impress the captain watching them from above.

The captain heard murmurs of conversation carrying on from the picnic table where three of his best Musketeers sat apathetically picking over their meal. Neither of the men appeared interested in eating as worry over their missing fourth hung overhead like an ominous cloud.

As if on cue, a stranger rode through the arched gate into the courtyard causing all activity within the garrison to cease. All heads turned to the rider, though he was of no interest to the men but rather whom he was holding in his arms.

The man's arms were wrapped around Athos to hold him upright in the saddle, as the Musketeer's head rested limply against the stranger's neck; sauntering behind the duo was Roger, tethered to the lead horse. The men at the picnic table jumped up to rush to their friend's side but gasped aloud at Athos's pale and haggard appearance.

"Let me through so I can look at him," Aramis said as he hobbled next to the horse. He leaned on his crutch as he reached up to take Athos's wrist, checking the man's pulse. Breathing a sigh of relief at the steady pulse, he looked at the stranger. "What happened to our friend?"

"He was attacked yesterday just outside of Claye-Souilly by a group of bandits," the man replied. "Your friend here put up quite an impressive fight; he killed three of the four buggers."

"What happened to him then?" Captain Tréville inquired as he hastily joined the group.

"He was shot from the saddle," the man answered the captain. "I saw him fight… and I saw him fall. I took him to the inn at Claye-Souilly to care for him but he wouldn't let me do much," he huffed. "I barely was able to wrap the wound, let alone treat his injuries."

"I'm fine," Athos slurred as he awoke. "Where am I?" the injured Musketeer blinked in confusion at his blurry surroundings.

"Yeah, sure you're fine," d'Artagnan rolled his eyes, shaking his head with disbelief.

"As I said, he was putting up a splendid fight but I could tell that he was weakening; his movements were becoming slow and lax—probably due to blood loss."

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur, but I was not ssslow; I esspecially was not lax, mind you." Athos protested stubbornly.

"'E can't be hurt too bad," Porthos quipped. "His obstinate, headstrong temperament is as healthy as ever."

"I am not obstinate…"

"Oh, you're not obstinate, huh?" Aramis grinned.

"'At's rubbish!" Porthos countered.

"Alright, let's get him down from there and to the infirmary," Captain Tréville ordered. "I'll be by later; I'd like to have a word with our Good Samaritan as you boys look after Athos."

"'Ere, let me take 'im." Porthos tugged at Athos as the others helped the injured man slip from the saddle into the arms of the large Musketeer.

Later, Musketeer Infirmary:

"You are certainly one lucky man, Athos. It was most fortuitous of your Good Samaritan to come around when he did," Doctor Lemay nodded as he wiped his hand clean.

"How is he doctor?" Aramis asked.

"Fairly well, considering," Lemay replied. "The ball passed through his side with no major damage to his internal organs—utterly amazing!"

"Would you be so enthusiastic if the ball had caused damage, doctor?" Athos asked as his eyelids began to droop closed.

"Athos, your bedside manners are atrocious, mon ami," Aramis squeezed his friend on the shoulder. "Actually, I should rephrase that. What I meant to say is that your in bed manners are utterly appalling and you should apologize to the good doctor," the medic grinned. "After all, he has to put up with your recalcitrant behavior as a patient—and he has my pity."

"Contrary to your accusations, Aramis, my behavior is never insubordinate!"

d'Artagnan suddenly choked on the sip of water he just swallowed, spraying over Athos with the liquid as he sputtered and coughed. Porthos pounded on the choking man's back as he giggled softly.

"You were saying?" Aramis deadpanned as he glared at Athos.

"I am quite well enough," Athos said as he tried sitting up. "I think I'll retire to my room."

"Not so fast," Aramis pushed his friend back down on the bed. "You're not going anywhere for a while yet."

"Wha' 'appened to you?" Porthos pointed at the melted apparel lying beside the bed. "Your doublet is burned… and so is your hand."

"I happened upon a house fire in Voujours," Athos relayed succinctly. "It's nothing… I just got a little singed."

"A little singed?" d'Artagnan was incredulous. "Your doublet was nearly melted—it's ruined—and you call that a little singed?"

"What happened to your left hand?" Aramis pointed to the row of red marks on his wrist.

"Oh, I was freeing a goat caught in the mud and brambles and… and he bit me." Athos closed his eyes as his face reddened.

"A goat!" the men echoed with laughter.

"I'm pleased you find this so amusing," Athos grumbled with sarcasm.

"You're lucky goats only have bottom teeth!" d'Artagnan wrapped his arms around his waist as he doubled over in laughter.

"Oi, a fire… a goat… bandits…" Porthos listed with a chuckle.

"I thought our adventures were rather captivating," Aramis huffed with amusement. "But, Athos, I think your escapade to the east has put our mishaps to shame."

"Since the doctor ordered bedrest for you—meaning, you can't get up and walk out on us—why don't you fill us all in on your escapade to the east." d'Artagnan winked at Aramis as he pulled up a chair then sat with his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles.

"Rubbish, we 'ave plenty of time." Porthos pulled up his own chair then plopped down. "We're listenin'."

"Oh yes, please do enlighten us," Aramis snickered. "I'm dying to hear this."

"I need a sleep draught," Athos grumbled.

"Oh, no you don't," Aramis retorted. "You're not going to sleep until…" Aramis started but was interrupted.

"Not until we hear about the goat…"

A/N:

One more chapter to wrap up the mishaps—stick around to find out who masterminded the misadventures!

Fun Fact:

Goats do not have top front teeth, but rather a hard "plate" which they use with their bottom teeth to grind the food against the plate. This is of course called "chewing cud." I have never been bitten by a goat but, according to those who have, they still say that it hurts like crazy, despite no top teeth. Ouch!