I apologize for the long wait, life just got into the way of it. Sitting in front of the computer is not really my favorite pastime as Sweden is having a summer heat wave. It won't be such a long wait until the next one, I promise! And you know, reviews helps my speed ;)

Six.

Many miles on the road passed, without a single word begin uttered between the two men. They changed from canter to trot, to gallop to canter back down to trot. The trot turned into a nice break from the canter, and Athos was very pleased that they were riding their own horses, because they knew just how hard they could press them. All of their horses were used to the long days rides, and they were getting tougher and stronger by each mission that passed. They were athletes and in better shape than any of their owners. They could last for hours after the men called to a break. They didn't tire and always aimed to please.

They covered a long distance already the first day, only stopping for a lunch break to let their horses drink some water and themselves eating some fish and bread. By the time night was falling, they couldn't find an inn anywhere near them, so they decided to set up a shelter instead. They still didn't have to talk, they knew what they were meant to do, and they did it straight away without any fuss. Athos built the shelter, finding branches to put against leaning trees that would shield them against any rain were it to come, and hide them from people they had no craving to meet.

Porthos gathered wood to make a small fire, close enough to Athos' makeshift shelter to keep them warm, but far away so they wouldn't accidentally roll into it while sleeping. Porthos then went on to hunt something for them to eat, while Athos went over to the horses, removing all the tack to let the horses have some sense of freedom. They didn't happily untack their horses while out in the woods, because it would take them a while to get everything back in place once it was off, and if anything happened they needed to be fast. In the same time, they didn't want the horses to be wearing the gear for the entire day and night, meaning they always removed the tack as they were going to sleep. It was only fair, and if anything happened they would just have to make sure to hurry up.

So he untacked both stallions, pulling all the tack off them and moving it all up towards the shelter, letting the two horses be free. Both Zad and Roger wandered off, and very soon they were out of sight, but Athos knew from experience that they were not more than a few seconds away should Porthos or himself shout for them. First couple of times they had let their horses away by themselves, they had been slightly worried that the horses would never return, but they had quickly learned that the horses were never that far away. The minute they were called upon, they would be there, ready to go.

Athos collected all the tack and walked up with it to the shelter as Porthos arrived back to the fire, holding a rabbit by its hind legs. Both men sat down next to the fire as Porthos begun prepping the rabbit for them to eat.

"How far away do you think we are?" Porthos asked, without looking up from the rabbit.

"I don't know. Not sure how far we have ridden. Not sure what speed they are keeping." Athos said quietly, leaning back against a tree. "Hopefully we'll catch up. But if they are riding faster than us…"

"We'll catch 'em Athos, we will. No one outruns Roger and Zad, they're the fastest horses of the regiment. We have been riding all day. Tomorrow we will be on the road again as the sun rises."

Athos nodded, and sighed.

"I wonder how Aramis is doing."

"He's fine. D'Artagnan will see to that. Put your faith into him, would you?"

Athos sighed again and stayed quiet as he watched Porthos and the rabbit, which was now up on a stick, Porthos rolling it over the fire.

"You should learn how to do this."

"Do what?"

"Cook."

Athos snorted. He had never really cooked in his entire life, mostly because he had never needed to. Growing up he would always have servants, and even though he had never been a fan of people fuzzing around him, he had to admit that they were good to have for some things. Cooking for example. He just didn't have the patience, and would usually end up leaving the food for something else to do. When arriving back to it, it would always be ruined. Every time he had to cook he usually ended up just drinking wine instead, which was much easier.

"I don't need to learn it." Athos said, a small grin appearing on his face for the first time that day. "I have you guys to do it for me."

"It's never too late to learn new skills." Porthos smiled as he turned the rabbit.

"I can cook. I just don't have to. And you guys don't want me to."

"No not after you almost set the entire forest afire." Porthos huffed at the memory of them all trying to put out the fire Athos had caused. It had ruined his boots, but Athos had been fair enough to buy him a new pair. "If you were all alone right now, how would you feed yourself?"

Athos shrugged. "There's bread and cheese in my saddle bag from the inn."

"You would just buy all your food?"

"That's one of the privileges about once being a Comte."

Porthos caught the past tense. "You still are the Comte de la Fere, Athos. You still own the land from what you told us, and by right you still hold the name."

"I am, and I do still own it. But the house burned, now all that's left is lands. I still rule the lands, but everyone living there knows I will not claim anything of them. They still pay me taxes, but I have never requested it."

"They also know that if anything were to happen, you're the right person to know. You would help them any way possible."

"I would." Athos agreed. He had never needed to, but he knew that if anyone were to make a mess anywhere near his lands, he would make sure they were stopped. Anyone living on his lands was under his protection and his honour would never overlook a raid.

Porthos put a big hand over Athos' shoulder, patting it with enough strength to make Athos slightly fall forward.

"No matter who you once were, or still is… To us you are Athos… A man who is great with a sword, a brother in arms… Who can't cook to save his life. We love you nonetheless." Porthos grinned as he looked over to Athos, who had a grin on his face as well.

"Well, you can't even thread a needle." Athos replied, his eyes glimmering.

"Neither can you." Porthos answered back with a raised eyebrow.

"Sure I can." Athos immediately defended himself.

"I have seen you sew."

"I can thread a needle. Never said I could sew."

Porthos grinned. "That's why we have Aramis."

Athos was about to object but then nodded in agreement. Aramis had taught them all the basics of sewing, but none of them could make more out of it than just about keeping the hole together. It would be uneven and unpretty, leaving ugly scars. No one could use a needle quite like Aramis. It didn't matter if it were skin or cloth, Aramis could stitch it together flawlessly, and he had proven so on many occasions. They all wore the proof of his perfection on both their bodies and their clothes.

"I cook. You are our bank. Aramis mend our bodies and clothes. And why do we keep d'Artagnan?" Porthos said, before he met Athos' eyes, and they both answered in perfect union.

"Errand boy."

Porthos pulled the rabbit off the fire as he divided it between Athos and himself, both of them tugging away at the meat.

"He proved himself well." Athos said in between the bites. "Stubborn, impulsive, raw, but his swordhand is matching my own, I only have to hold back a little in these days."

"Do you think he will eventually land that hit?"

"He will never land a hit. I'm just saying one day I might not have to hold back while sparring with him."

"He's got potential." Porthos agreed. "But he will never take me in a brawl."

"You're twice his size." Athos pointed out with a raised eyebrow, as Porthos chuckled.

"With the right moves, size doesn't matter. I can take down a man twice my size."

"There are no men twice your size." Athos said, looking over sternly at Porthos, but with a grin growing across his face. "So you think d'Artagnan could take you?"

"Never." Porthos said determined.

"So where are we getting with this? He will be a fine musketeer but never better than any of us?"

"He will give Aramis a run for his money, ey? That boy has a fatal aim. And he's pretty good with needle and thread. Not as good as Aramis, but definitely better than us."

"Well hopefully we will all live long enough to see just how good this lad can become. I'm excited to see his development."

"Here, here." Porthos agreed, leaning back as he finished his rabbit.

"There's wine in my bag." Athos said, and Porthos understood the hint as he got to his feet, and rummaged through the bag until he pulled out one of the bottles in there. Coming back down onto the ground next to Athos, he pulled the cork out and drank heavily from the bottle.

"Save some for me will you?" Athos said, trying to reach the bottle, but Porthos held it up, laughing as Athos looked like a cat trying desperately to catch a mouse, his hands flailing in the air as the bottle was just an inch away from his fingers at all times.

A smack to Porthos' ribs made the big man lower his arms in reflex and Athos grabbed the bottle, cradling it like a babe, with a grin covering his face.

"What happened to your chivalry?"

"Hard times call for hard decisions." Athos shrugged his shoulders as he drank steadily from the bottle. Porthos mumbled something incoherent, but his face lit up as Athos handed him the bottle, letting Porthos have the last share.

In the same time, back at the inn, Aramis was just coming around for the first time that day. D'Artagnan had been by his side, wiping his brow, caring for his back, trying to wake him for something to drink. He felt utterly helpless as Aramis twisted in bed, groaning from pain and fever, mumbling incoherent words in what d'Artagnan guessed was Spanish.

Now, Aramis glossy eyes blinked open, and his sight darted around the room in search for something d'Artagnan couldn't pinpoint. It wasn't until Aramis eyes found his d'Artagnan's eyes that he understood what the man was searching for.

"Athos?" He whispered with a shaky voice. "Porthos?"

"They will be back before you know it." D'Artagnan said quietly, pressing a cup of water towards Aramis' lips. The man drank, swallowed and closed his eyes hard.

He didn't say anything more, he just laid there with his eyes closed until he finally drifted back to a restless sleep. D'Artagnan had a feeling the man would not be able to rest properly until his two comrades were back. And neither would he. These three men had grown into his family, and he would do anything for any of them. Just sitting here in this room with Aramis completely out of it, and the other two riding off to face danger, he just couldn't help but to feel pathetic. He wanted to help, but he had no idea how to. Just sit here and take care of Aramis? He knew Aramis needed help and he would never mind helping any of them, but he felt like he had watched as Athos and Porthos rode off to face their deaths.

Aramis would never forgive him. He would never forgive himself. They had to return, they just simply had to. He had no idea what to do if they didn't. He had no idea what Aramis would do if they didn't.

Nope, them dying was out of the question. They would make it. If anyone could bring Bastien down, it would be them and he had faith in his friends.

Aramis once again begun to whimper in his sleep, mumbling in Spanish, the only words d'Artagnan recognized being 'Athos' and 'Porthos.' D'Artagnan sat down on the floor next to his bed, taking Aramis hand in his own, pressing it against his cheek. D'Artagnan closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, he began to pray.