Aramis came to with a groan as rain droplets fell against his cheek in a steady rhythm; he blinked water from his eyes as he groggily opened them, only to be faced with darkness. His head pulsed in a throbbing pain, causing him to hitch his breathing as he looked around.

Night had well and truly fallen now, and all he could see were dark flashes of objects in his peripheral vision as they passed at a high speed- seconds later he became aware that he was lying on something that was moving; perhaps a trailer or cart.

As he moved gingerly on the spot, flexing and relaxing assorted muscles and bones to ensure that no damage had been done, he became alarmed that he couldn't move his arms. They were bound tightly to his sides by thick ropes- as he groaned in exertion he felt a course fabric against his mouth; a gag. Perfect.

Sitting back agains the damp wooden side of the trailer, the musketeer took a good look at his surroundings; the cart was being pulled by two large horses, and two men were sat up the front, hunched over against the bad weather. He looked round outside the cart- the road was a mud slick, lined with trees on either side and banked by bushes full of sharp thorns. Small, man made paths had been cut into the trees, but it was so dark that Aramis couldn't see down any of them.

He sighed against his gag and tried to quell his hammering chest- his heart gave a thrill of panic as he looked down to see three inert bodies slumped on the floor of the cart. He tried to kneel forwards, to make sure that his friends were alright, but as he did so he began to overbalance; a flash of lightheadedness struck him and he had to sit back, breathing heavily.

He cursed himself as he fought a wave of nausea that washed over him; he instead settled on just using his eyes to see if they were alright. D'Artagnan was still out for the count, he saw; blood oozed from his shoulder. He hoped it wouldn't be long before they stopped so he could give his wound a proper look.

Porthos was slumped next to him, face down on the cart floor. The bigger man moved sluggishly as the cart turned a corner; Aramis looked up as the men stopped talking suddenly, but they didn't turn round.

His eyes finally fell on Athos, and he almost jumped as he saw two eyes staring back at him- the two men looked each other over silently, as Athos was gagged too. They communicated through their eyes and expressions; they didn't need to talk. Athos flicked his eyes over to the men sitting up the front, who had started to talk again, and back to Aramis.

How many? His expression said.

Aramis blinked twice. Athos nodded. He then roved his eyes around Aramis, as if over-dramatising seeing if he was ok.

Are you hurt? The look meant.

Aramis shook his head. Athos nodded at that, visibly relaxing just a little. He jerked his head at Porthos and D'Artagnan.

What about them?

Aramis nodded once, shrugging at the same time. I don't know. I think they're alright. He would explain about the youngest member's injuries once they had come to a stop.

Athos nodded, before his eyes creased as a peal of thunder sounded above their heads.

They travelled in silence again, before Athos came to the distinct impression that the cart was slowing. He moved upwards slightly, trying to crane his head and peer around- he frowned as his eyes came to rest on a ramshackle, dirty, but quaint stone cottage in the middle of the woods.

What was going on? He thought to himself as the cart came to a complete stop and the two men got out of the cart.

The sudden end of movement seemed to pull D'Artagnan and Porthos from their stupors, too. Porthos groaned against his gag as opened bleary eyes- he frowned and looked about as he sat up, catching both the eye of Athos and Aramis as he did so.

D'Artagnan opened his eyes, his face pale against the moonlight- Aramis pushed himself to his side, letting the gascon use his shoulder and chest to pull himself up; it gave him an excuse to check his injury over. It was quite a deep wound, but the bullet only seemed to have grazed his shoulder; blood oozed from it, and Aramis knew it would require treatment.

They all looked up as they heard the two men approach- Athos tensed himself, and Aramis could see the same fire he felt build inside himself reflected in his eyes as one of the men un-latched the back of the cart, opening it up so they could get out.

Four stony faces stared across at the two men as the rain continued to pound on the wood. There was silence for a few seconds before the man in the red coat banged on the side of the cart. 'You can either get out yourselves-' he started in a gruff voice, before producing a gun from his coat, '-or I'll make you. Your choice.'

He looked across at Athos, who he seemed to assume was the leader. Aramis watched him consider his options in a split second- he finally shuffled forwards, giving the medic a look as he passed that plainly said we'll get out of this. As he reached the end of the cart the man in the red coat grabbed his coat and pulled him, sending him to the wet ground.

Porthos was next, although the man seemed to think twice about pulling him off the cart; the look that Porthos gave him made sure of that.

Aramis made sure he was next; he shuffled in front of D'Artagnan, hoping the lad would try and latch himself onto a shoulder. D'Artagnan moved forwards a little, wincing as he accidentally knocked his shoulder.

'Come on!' The man shouted as Aramis tried to gently nudge him forwards, anger laced in his voice. 'I'm not waiting all night!' He reached up to the younger man and viciously dragged him down the length of the cart, before pulling him off the edge and letting him fall to the ground.

Aramis let out a gagged howl of anger, shaking his head as he quickly scuttled and moved off the cart- he saw Athos throw himself at the man in the red coat, hoping to knock him to the ground too. The man answered by punching him in the gut and sending him to the wet ground instead. As Athos struggled up, face contorted in pain, he lifted his gun and aimed it at the four men. 'One more move and he dies!' He shouted, before pointing the gun at D'Artagnan, who Aramis was helping to his feet as best he could.

The four men stood in silence, staring out the two men as lightening illuminated the sky above their heads. 'Better,' the man growled, before cricking his neck and relaxing his face. 'Told you these ones looked good...' He whispered to the man at his side, who nodded with a horrible smile on his face.

Athos spoke from behind his gag, the words muffled and garbled. The man sighed and reached forwards, keeping his gun trained at D'Artagnan at all times. He ripped the gag off, stepping backwards at Athos took a steadying breath. If looks could kill, Athos would have killed these men thrice over, Porthos thought to himself.

'We are Musketeers,' he began, voice quivering. 'You have both committed treason to the highest degree. But we are not unreasonable. Let us leave now and we will do no more about this.' He spoke with an authority and brevity he didn't quite believe in at this moment- he hoped this olive branch would be enough to let them go. Then they would be back.

'You really expect us to believe that?' The man in the red coat asked lightly, his gun still trained at D'Artagnan's head. 'They have what he said he wanted...' He spoke again to the man next to him. Aramis frowned at that. Who said he wanted? What did he want?

'They might be even better than the last ones...' The man replied, nodding. The two men chuckled as the musketeers looked on.

Fear started to settle in Athos' stomach, hot and uncomfortable. 'Our captain is expecting us,' he started again. The men didn't seem to be paying them any attention now. 'He will come to look for us.'

'He won't find anything, though.' The man replied, grinning as he smoothed down the lapels of his red coat. 'We always make sure of that.'

'We-'

'I think you should be quiet now-' the man snapped, before walking forwards and tying the gag around Athos' mouth once more. 'Come on. He'll be waiting on us.' He barked to the man next to him. He nodded and produced a gun of his own- with a sadistic grin he pointed it at Aramis. 'Come on, pretty boy- you first!'

Aramis flexed his wrists against his bonds, hoping they would snap at any second. When all he succeeded in doing was making his wrists sore, he gave the man pointing the gun at him an angry look and started to slowly follow.

They were led down a gravel path lined with small bushes that led to the house. It looked like the kind of abode an elderly couple would live in, or a smallholding for a small family. The windows were drawn, but Aramis could see that a fire was lit inside as a flickering orange hue could be seen from behind the thin fabric.

Smoke rose from the brick chimney; the acrid smoke made Athos turn up his nose as he walked behind D'Artagnan- he growled as he felt the gun at the small of his back. He didn't know what to do- none of their training had covered situations like this.

The man in the red coat rapped on the red painted wooden door; Aramis expected a gruff man to answer, perhaps wielding an axe or another weapon of some kind. What he didn't expect, however, was the door to be opened to reveal an elderly, slightly plump lady in a pinny,. Her hair was in a net, and her lined face was creased in a gentle smile as she looked at the six men on her doorstep.

'He in?' The man in the red coat asked.

'Yes, in the back,' the old woman replied, voice smooth and gentle. D'Artagnan was immediately reminded of grandmothers and the kindly ladies who sometimes visited the garrison at christmastime.

'Tell him we've got four more. Good ones this time.'

'Tell him yourself, I'm not your servant.' The lady replied, giving him a look, to which the man bowed his head and nodded. He looked to the other man- 'get them in. I'll tell him we've arrived.'

Aramis growled low in his throat as the man pushed him in the lower back- the woman turned without another word and led the way inside. Aramis hesitated at the threshold- a jab in his back made him stumble forwards.

The hallway was low, the room warm and stifling; the smell of cooking meats and baking bread wafted from a large room to the left. The woman kept walking forwards, and all the four men could do was follow. The room they were led to was large and circular, with a large roaring fire at one end, near which a single high backed chair was sitting, it's back to the approaching men.

The old lady bent and tended to the fire, throwing one log onto it and stepping back as it crackled. She looked across at the musketeers, still bound and gagged, who all regarded her warily.

'Don't look so worried, dears,' she muttered kindly, a small giggle escaping her. 'I don't bite.' Her eyes fell on D'Artagnan and the wound on his shoulder. 'This one is hurt.' She suddenly said to the room at large. She stepped forwards, arm outstretched, but Athos stepped deftly in front of the gascon, shaking his head at her.

'If I don't tend to it, it will get infected. Do you want that?' Her voice was light and reasonable. Athos was conflicted; he looked across at D'Artagnan, taking in the state of the sound himself. He looked at Aramis, whose wide eyes offered him no help. This old lady could be as bad as the men who had captured them- but without her help D'Artagnan would die.

He looked across at the younger man once more, deciding to let him make the choice. He saw the he was pale and shaky; the gascon gave a small nod, to which Athos stepped backwards.

'Good.' The old lady smiled, and as she passed Athos smelt violets and musks. 'He won't be gone long,' she added, before clasping the Gascon's arm and steering him away.

Athos made to follow, worry flashing in his chest, but the man in the red coat was back, face plastered in a smile. The four remaining musketeers tensed as he came to a stop in front of them.

'He wants to see you.' He started, before leaning forwards and, one by one, removing the gags from their mouths.

'Let us leave now and we'll tell no one.' Aramis muttered, licking his lips. 'You have our word.'

'I think it's a little late for that, don't you?' A new, deep voice sounded in the semi-darkness of the room. The man in the red coat chuckled darkly and stepped back as a large shadowed figure approached.

Porthos strained his eyes to see, but he could only make out blurred features of the man as he stopped by the fire.

'Who are you?' Athos growled. 'What do you want?'

'How many?' The man barked, ignoring him, voice gruff and gravely.

'Four. Strong. Soldiers.' The man in the red coat replied.

'Soldiers? What rank?'

'Musketeers, they said.'

'Musketeers?' Aramis detected a hint of panic. 'Of all the soldiers in France and you pick the king's personal bodyguards?'

'Well, we-'

'Enough.' The musketeers heard the distinct sound of clinking coins. A bag of money was thrown at each of the men. 'You've done well. They'll do perfectly. The fact they are Musketeers may yet work in our favour. It may push up the price...'

'What the hell is going on here?!' Athos exploded finally, voice echoing across the room.

A dry chuckle was all he got in reply. 'All in good time.' The shadowed man answered, before he clicked his fingers. Suddenly, each man was grabbed from behind with a startled yell- a cloth soaked in a liquid was clamped over their mouths and noses. They struggled wildly at the strong grips of their captors- Seconds later each man slumped to the stone flagged floor to the sound of the shadowed man laughing.

'Put them in the barn. Use the chains.' He ordered as each man was dragged upright. 'It starts tomorrow. Tell the others.'

'What about, y'know...' The man in the red coat asked, voice trailing off.

'He can come. If he behaves himself I might let him have a turn- but this is our time now.' He sniffed as he saw Aramis' lifeless body thrown onto the back of one of the other men.

'Come on, we've got work to do before they all get here tomorrow...' He muttered as he turned to sit back in his chair by the fire.

'Them the fun can really begin.'

Next chapter- things really start to go from bad to worse!

Hope you liked this, please review!

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