Chapter 8

Aramis POV

As he was leading his horse into the farm yard, Aramis desperately hoped that he would have the strength to see this through.

The knowledge of what was at stake, of who was at stake, weighed heavily on his shoulders and yet, at the moment he wasn't even convinced he would reach his destination without falling off his horse.

His entire body was engulfed in pain; his various injuries seemingly working together to see him fail.

His broken ribs had appreciated neither his earlier exertion nor his subsequent collapse and vehemently protested every single step of his mare.

His head had been pounding almost unbearably since he woke at Constance's and he was unable to tell if it was the result of the wound he had sustained the day before or the blood loss he had suffered.

The worst of it by far was his arm. The injured limb was carefully cradled against his chest as every attempted movement caused his vision to gray around the edges. The searing pain emanating from the two burn sites managed to wind itself around his entire being, effectively lowering his defenses.

Athos and Treville had voiced their concerns about his condition several times during the short journey to the farm, and he hadn't dared to insult their intelligence by trying to placate them with false reassurances.

In the end, he was grateful that both of them seemed to understand why he needed to be part of this.

On the bright side, his plan seemed to be working so far. When they had carefully approached the outer reaches of the property, they had been able to find an excellent vantage point atop a ridge to assess the situation at the farm unnoticed.

Their surveillance had shown one guard in front of the barn, revealing Porthos's and d'Artagnan's likely position.

Another three men were stationed at the outskirts of the farmyard, surveying the area and watching for anyone to draw near.

Now approaching the center of the yard by himself, Aramis saw that Ballard must have summoned his men as soon as his presence had been noticed.

Good.

That would give Athos the opportunity to reach Porthos and d'Artagnan undetected while Treville would hopefully be able to take position behind the side building unseen. The captain and the aim of his musket would be Aramis's line of defense, should events escalate before Athos was ready.

Drawing his horse to a halt, four men immediately surrounded him, their pistols steadily aimed at his chest. When his eyes settled on Ballard's stone cold gaze, he fervently hoped that he hadn't grievously miscalculated the situation.

If Ballard chose to kill him on the spot, none of his brothers would ever forgive him.

The tension in the air was palpable as the moment stretched on.

But instead of pistol fire, it was Ballard's voice that finally broke the silence.

"I knew you'd come."

Stepping forward, Ballard took the reins out of Aramis's hand, signaling clearly what was expected of him.

Aramis held on to the saddle with his left and swung his leg over the horse's rear to dismount. Gritting his teeth against the pain that flooded his system anew, he refused to show any outward sign of weakness when his feet hit the ground.

Taking a few steadying breaths, he turned to Ballard and said, "Of course I came. You didn't leave me much choice, did you?"

Advancing another two steps, Ballard invaded his personal space, his eyes a hurricane of fury and hatred. "Today brother, you shall experience the same agony you have bestowed upon me. By the time I'm finished with those you hold most dear, you will beg me to end your life."

Refusing to be baited, Aramis chose to ignore the obvious threat. Instead he stood unflinching in the face of Ballard's madness, raising his chin defiantly.

When he spoke, his steady gaze never wavered.

"You were one of us; a Musketeer. Why do you feel obligated to kill for a man who betrayed everything he had sworn to protect?"

His voice grew more intense as his rage was fueled and Aramis couldn't stop his next words from escaping. "Even if he was your father, you must see that his actions were those of a traitor without honor and that I had no choice but to kill him."

The fist was thrust into his abdomen without warning or mercy and due to their proximity to each other Aramis had no chance of avoiding it. The brute force of the blow stole his breath, and as his vision turned white, he doubled over involuntarily, fighting hard to avoid going to his knees.

"Do not talk to me about honor," Ballard shouted. "I joined the regiment to honor my father, only to be deceived for all these years."

Admittedly, it had been a rather foolish thing to say to a man who held most of the cards at the moment. As Aramis struggled to recover his wits, Athos's words kept playing in his mind.

'Keep him talking, yet refrain from antagonizing him unnecessarily.'

Easier said than done.

The fire inside his ribs was difficult to breathe around, and the pounding in his head made it extremely challenging to form a coherent thought.

Coughing weakly, Aramis realized that his usual eloquence eluded him at the moment.

He also knew that even if he were able to present it, Ballard would not listen to reason. He was a man consumed by hatred and revenge; Aramis had seen it in his eyes. Due to a string of unfortunate events, Ballard only held contempt for him, and there was nothing he'd be able to say that would make the slightest bit of difference.

And yet, he needed to find a way to give Athos more time.

It crossed his mind that he hadn't been relieved of his weapons yet.

He only briefly wondered if a second foolish act would cancel out the first before he wrapped his left hand around the hilt of his main gauche.

Unsheathing the weapon he straightened as quickly as his damaged body would allow and thrust the blade forward.

Unfortunately, he wasn't quite fast enough.

Ballard avoided the dagger by a hair when he quickly sidestepped the flash of steel rushing at him.

His forward momentum threw Aramis off balance, his movements too stilted and sluggish to avoid Ballard's counter attack.

When his injured arm was seized in a vice-like grip and purposefully twisted sideways, all conscious thought deserted him and his dagger slipped out of his hand.

With the excruciating sensation of liquid fire flooding his entire body, his legs failed him completely, and Aramis was unable to stifle the strangled cry of pain that escaped him when his knees hit the ground.

Closing his eyes against the blackness threatening to overtake him, Aramis felt Ballard lean in close to pull his rapier from its sheath and relief him of his pistol. After handing the weapons to one of his men, Ballard hissed angrily,

"I can't wait to finally drain the life out of you." – He used the death grip he still had on the injured limb to roughly haul Aramis back to his feet – "But first I believe it's time for you to know how it feels to have your brothers ripped from your grasp, and it will be my pleasure to witness your agony over their loss."

Turning his head, Ballard addressed one of his men.

"Fetch the prisoners so we can get on with this."

Back on his feet, his breathing now came in shallow bouts as he desperately tried to control the pain coursing through his body in endless waves. He needed Ballard to relinquish his hold on the wounded arm, or he knew he'd be unconscious by the time things got interesting.

Having no more cards to play, he decided on a rather desperate move. Trying to keep his voice even, he asked, "Have you started to wonder why your uncle hasn't yet returned?"

Ballard's eyes turned black at the implication, his face twisting in horror.

Aramis pressed on, his tone low and dangerous despite his hitching breath, "He was waiting for us in front of your family home. After he shot at Athos, I killed him by slowly twisting my blade into his gut."

The agonizing grip on his arm was finally released when a furious roar erupted from Ballard's chest. The relief he felt was short-lived, however, when his opponent's pained growl was accompanied by a vicious kick.

When Ballard's boot drove into his already damaged midsection with brutal force, all remaining air rushed out of his lungs. Staggering badly, he lost his last precarious hold on any measure of balance and crashed into the ground beneath him, landing flat on his back.

For one agonizing moment, the world didn't make sense as it continued to spin around him in a haze of blurred images, leaving him utterly confused and disoriented.

Gasping for breath, but seemingly unable to draw enough oxygen to satisfy his starving lungs, he realized that the piercing pain in his chest most likely signaled another broken rib.

Every beat of his heart sent a new wave of misery through his beaten body, and he knew he was only holding on by a thread.

Not yet.

Refusing to relinquish his tenuous hold on consciousness, he touched his hands to the ground next to him in an attempt to anchor himself. When the world slowly calmed around him, he looked up and recognized that the blurred image of Ballard was aiming a pistol at his chest.

Of course. This was just not his day.

Ballard's voice shook with anger when he spoke. "Perhaps there is no need to wait any longer. Taking you apart right here and right now will be plenty satisfying."

Advancing quickly, Ballard came to hover directly over Aramis's prone form. After readjusting the aim of his pistol, the trajectory now lined up threateningly with Aramis's forehead.

With an ugly sneer in his voice, Ballard said, "Besides, you already know how it feels to lose a brother. After all, you did have to watch Athos die."

Aramis finally heard it then; the creaking sound that signaled that the barn door was opening.

Not long now.

His next words were only meant to distract and to keep Ballard from pulling the trigger. "I said your uncle shot at Athos. I never said that he killed him."

The confused look he received was replaced with an angry snarl seconds later as Ballard's attention was drawn by the commotion suddenly erupting behind them.

"Musketeers."

Aramis turned his head to see Ballard's three remaining men close ranks as they positioned themselves between their patron and the advancing soldiers; ready to engage in battle.

Catching a brief glimpse of Porthos from his prone position on the ground, Aramis noted the bandage on his friend's arm but was reassured as he watched him twirl his sword through the air before bringing it down on his opponent with unbelievable force and a roar of fury.

The anger rolled off his friend in waves and Aramis realized that he was at least partly responsible for the mad rage he witnessed.

He understood then that he would have to answer to another lecture about recklessness and irresponsibility in the near future. At the moment, however, he felt nothing but immense relief at witnessing Porthos's lively anger.

When his eyes fell on d'Artagnan, he felt his brow furrow in concern. Half of the younger man's face was covered in blood while one arm was drawn tightly around his midsection. Still he met his opponent with the same ferocity Aramis was used to seeing from his young friend.

It was the only reassurance he would be granted for the moment as Ballard's voice forced him to focus his attention on his own precarious situation.

"They will not be fast enough to save you." The threat was infused with equal parts of determination and madness.

Watching as Ballard's finger tightened on the trigger, Aramis was only slightly surprised at his lack of concern.

Holding on to the complete faith he felt in regards to his brothers, he closed his eyes and waited.

'Don't ever forget that we are brothers who fight for each other; no matter what.'

'One of us will have you in their sight at all times to intervene if needed.'

The report of a musket echoed across the yard, and Ballard's blood-curdling scream rendered the air as the ball hit its mark.

Treville.

Tearing his eyes open at the sound, Aramis watched his opponent stagger back a step, his pistol slipping from his fingers.

The ball had torn through Ballard's lower right side, carving its way through muscle and flesh.

Painful, but not immediately fatal.

Too quickly Ballard recovered his wits; no doubt fueled by rage and adrenaline. Unsheathing his dagger, he advanced on Aramis once more with mad and lethal intent.

Extremely tired of his prone and utterly helpless position on the ground, he gritted his teeth and pushed up onto his left elbow.

Panting harshly at the movement, he wasn't able to stifle his grunt of pain at the horrible sensation of his broken bones grating together and threatening to pierce his skin from the inside.

"Aramis!"

Turning his head towards the frantic shout, he saw Treville advancing at a full out sprint. His captain's pistol was primed and aimed, but he was not yet in range to fire.

Drawing on his usually endless supply of stubbornness and determination, Aramis managed to sit up the rest of the way, his injured arm drawn tightly around his badly damaged ribcage.

The effort required to complete the simple task had left his tired body shaking and no matter how much he tried, he was unable to ignore the wildfire of pain raging within.

Looking up, he barely glimpsed the flash of steel which heralded Ballard's main gauche descending upon him with alarming velocity.

There was no time for him to even regret the fact that he didn't have a weapon to use in his defense.

Awaiting whatever outcome he was destined for, he jerked backward with surprise when another blade suddenly appeared from the side and swiftly parried the dagger meant for his throat.

Porthos.

His friend swept over Ballard like a furious hurricane, driving him back with brute force.

"Draw your god damn sword and fight. I have a promise to keep." Porthos's voice thundered through the yard, his features reminding of a raging storm. "You will die today."

In the face of the Musketeer's unrelenting fury, Ballard scrambled to discard his main gauche in favor of drawing his rapier. With one last menacing glance at Aramis, he seemed to realize that he would have to forego his revenge if he wished to have a fighting chance.

Grateful for Porthos's timely intervention but loath to sit idly by while his friend fought his battle, Aramis attempted to push himself off the ground. When a lightning bolt brutally pierced his side, he immediately seized all movement, knowing something was terribly wrong when he felt his fragmented ribs shift within.

His vision grew dim.

Not yet.

Focused on regaining control over the agony flooding his system, he jerked in surprise when he felt a hand gently squeeze his shoulder. Whipping his head around, he found d'Artagnan crouched next to him, a frown on his bloody face.

"Easy, it's just me."

Briefly looking past his young friend to gauge the situation, Aramis noticed three dead bodies sprawled on the ground; it seemed that his friends had made quick work of the last of Ballard's force.

His eyes next searched for Treville and Athos and found them standing only a few yards away. Closely observing the battle raging before them, his captain and lieutenant were clearly prepared to aid Porthos at a moment's notice should the need arise.

They needn't have worried.

Porthos du Vallon was all hellfire and fury as his broadsword was guided with merciless force. Leaving Ballard no opportunity to mount a counter attack, the traitor was left to parry desperately and retreat in the face of Porthos's violent assault.

It was almost over.

"Aramis?" There was an edge of concern in d'Artagnan's voice.

"Hm?" He had a hard time focusing past the pain now.

"I asked if you are alright. You look awfully pale."

Strange. He hadn't heard the question the first time. Although that might have something to do with the buzzing in his ears.

"You shouldn't judge a man's appearance when your own face is covered in blood." Aramis forced a smile and vehemently tried to ignore the pressure building inside his chest.

"Yes well, I'm only following your advice. You always tell me the ladies appreciate battle scars."

The chuckle that escaped him at d'Artagnan's retort quickly turned into a violent cough as his breath hitched and his muscles contracted.

A fire, seemingly hotter than the sun, spread through his insides with every desperate gasp of air and every grating cough, seizing his abdomen with an iron fist.

"Aramis? Tell me what's wrong. Aramis."

Unable to form the words necessary to alleviate d'Artagnan's worry, he focused on the one thing that mattered at this moment.

He would not succumb to the darkness trying to claim him as long as Ballard still drew breath. He would hold out until this was over.

Looking up with bleary eyes, he witnessed Porthos deliver a powerful strike at a downward angle, slicing his opponent's chest in a spray of blood.

Ballard went to his knees.

Aramis lost focus once more when another violent cough shook his body. Feeling a sticky substance on his lips, he dragged his shaking hand over his mouth and detected a smear of red covering his glove.

He looked at it almost detachedly, not entirely certain he comprehended its meaning.

"Athos. Something is wrong with him." D'Artagnan's voice now held an edge of panic.

Breaking his confused stare on his bloody glove, Aramis quickly wiped it on his breeches and locked his eyes back onto Porthos.

From his position on the ground, Ballard weakly raised his sword in a last desperate attempt to save his life when Porthos's shianova finally pierced his chest with a brutal thrust.

It was done.

When Porthos pulled his broadsword free of Ballard's torso, and Aramis witnessed his enemy slide sideways to the ground, the last of his resolve crumpled together with Ballard's lifeless form and he finally relinquished his stubborn and desperate hold on consciousness.

The last thing his mind processed before his awareness slipped completely was the panic in Porthos's eyes and the horror in Athos's voice.

"Aramis!"

TBC

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