Thanks again for all your feedback! It really is thanks to you that I keep posting this fast, I really should be doing other stuff but I aim to please.. ;) (and I really don't want to do the dishes and laundry!) Unless I go all duracell-rabbit on this story tomorrow, this will be the last post before yet another competition weekend. Yup, yup, busy schedule. For anyone who wants to follow my crazy life, I can mention my screen name is "mojsengojs" at tumblr/twitter/instagram. I also have an account named 'mojsengojs' here at , with my old stories in another fandom. Wanted to start fresh so decided to create a new account for a new fandom. Anyway, I'm rambling.

And oh I finally got my DVD's and spent all night yesterday watching and rewatching the DVD extras. Why did no one tell me the horse Howard ride is called Flip? I love it. I'm totally using it. For those of you who read my old story will know I called Porthos' horse "Zad" (the name of Luke Pasqualino/D'Art's horse) but Porthos horse will now be named Flip!

Oh, rambling again. Sorry. Please ignore me, and read the story instead :D

Chapter 5

The first thing that crossed Athos' fuzzy mind was pain. Intense, radiating pain, shooting through his body like flames, burning through his limbs. His eyes opened up in panic as he tried to control it, trying to push it back into the back of his head. He stared straight up, finding that the thick wooden beams of a ceiling were moving at a rapid pace, spinning dangerously fast. He closed his eyes as nausea got the best of him, and swallowed over and over before he dared to open his eyes again. The spinning roof was slowing down, and he forced himself to focus on a fixed point, until his brain finally seemed to hold still enough for him to comprehend a voice talking to him. A face came into view, and his instincts immediately told him he was safe. It was a face belonging to one of the four men he would trust his life with in a heartbeat.

"Athos, can you hear me?"

In Athos' defence, he tried his hardest to answer his Captain, but he closed his eyes in annoyance as the words escaping his throat was completely incoherent, even to his own ears. A hand was placed behind his head, and he pressed his eyes tighter as blinding lights seemed to blaze in front of him.

"Drink Athos."

He could feel a cup being pressed against his lips, and he instinctively parted them to allow the liquid to drip into his mouth. He swallowed carefully, several mouthfuls, until the cup appeared empty. His head was lowered back to the soft pillow again, and even though the movement was as careful as it possibly could be, it still sent Athos' mind twirling.

Athos wasn't able to tell just for how long he was laying there with his eyes closed as he focused on breathing, trying to push the nausea and pain aside. But it soon faded into a dull ache, and he forced his eyelids open. First thing he saw was Treville, but his Captain was not focused on him anymore, he was focused on another man in the room.

"He's concussed, Captain. He will feel sick for a few days. Talk to him, ask questions, and see if he has his wits. Aramis treated him well, he will be better as long as we make sure he rests."

Athos clouded brain did its best to figure out who the man talking so loudly next to him was, but his attempts failed. His curiosity and need of control tried to talk him into turning his head to look at who Treville was looking at, but just moving his eyes made his world spin. The thought of actually moving his head was terrifying.

In the end, he didn't need to turn his head, because Treville stilled his curiosity.

"Thank you Jean."

Ah, the Musketeers' physician. That just made Athos even more puzzled, because Aramis would never let Jean near any of them as they were hurting. The only reason to why Jean would be standing next to his bed, was because Aramis was no where close. So why wasn't Aramis here? His friends never left him when he was hurting. And he sure was in pain. Not as bad as when he had first woken – the exploding pain had really dulled off. The liquid he had been drinking was not water, it was a liquid Aramis would mix up for them when pain became too intense. He must've left some by Athos side, knowing he would need it.

"Athos, can you hear me?"

Athos blinked his eyes again, as Treville's eyes turned to look at him. He could feel fingers wrap around his hand, and he squeezed back at the pressure. He took a careful breath before testing his voice again, and couldn't help but to shut his eyes at the sound of his own voice.

"Yes."

"Do you know where you are?" Treville asked carefully. Athos was certain that Treville was speaking with a whisper on his voice, but his head was jarring at every word from his Captain.

"Infir… inf…"

Athos voice betrayed him still, and he shut his blinking eyes hard again. Damn, this was difficult. A hand was placed under his head again, a cup brought to his lips. Water. Cold water that eased the ache in his throat slightly, and he drank it greedily but carefully, his entire upper body complaining every time he swallowed. The cup emptied, his head came back down to the pillow again, sending waves of nausea through his mind. He didn't even want to know what would happen if he opened his eyes.

"The infirmary, yes." Treville smiled, glad that at least Athos' brain didn't seem to have lost all sense.

"'Mis? P'thos? D'Art? Athos whispered, worried about his friends. They were always by each other's side, so why where they not next to his?

"They will be back soon."

It suddenly hit Athos that the reason they were not there were most certainly because they had left trying to figure out what happened to him. They would've figured it out - that he had gotten reports from La Fére and that he had ridden to what used to be his home. They would've left immediately to look it up, and the thought of his friends riding right into the hell being his past sent panic up his throat. His eyes were suddenly wide open as he flailed his arms as his instincts told him that he had to go. 'Go. Warn them. Save them. Don't let them get killed. You need to help them.'

Even if Athos was strong-minded and could usually push through most injuries, his aching head would not allow the movements that followed as he pushed himself up into sitting position. Treville pushed a hand towards Athos' chest, but Athos wouldn't have made it out of bed anyway, considering the way the entire room rapidly tilted.

Treville held him at he emptied his stomach contents on the floor next to them, before carefully easing him back in the bed. A hand under the head again, a cup of water brought to his lips and Athos emptied it quickly.

"Careful Athos, you are not ready to leave bed just yet. Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan know what they are doing, and they will be careful, and back here before you know it. Just lean back and relax and they might even be here next time you open your eyes."

Athos didn't hear all of that, Treville's words just mixed up into mumbling sounds as his ears were ringing too loudly for him to be able to hear anything else. The white lights shooting through his eyes were back, and he soon let the darkness win the battle.

"What do we do now? Are we just going to sit around and wait for the raiders to attack? We don't know their plans." D'Artagnan sighed as he leaned back in his saddle, looking over at his friends who were riding next to him. "I don't like just sitting here waiting, then I'd rather go home to Paris and be with Athos."

"Treville will make sure Athos rests, and I left enough herbs, potions and salves for him to get well quickly. There is not much we can do in Paris. Here, we might be able to sort some things out." Aramis sighed. He didn't want to be here either, if speaking honestly, he'd much rather sit next to Athos and make sure his brother recovered, but he knew it would not help out in the long run.

"I just wish this Isaac would attack already and be done with it." Porthos mumbled, a hand coming up to scratch his beard. He wanted to sit next to Athos as well, none of them had felt like leaving him at the state he had been in. They all knew Treville would take care of him, and guard him with his life, but they rather be there themselves.

But they all knew Aramis was right, they could not do much in Paris than to sit next to Athos and hold his hand. Here, on the land of La Fére, where Athos' crazy cousin was trying to stir up as big of a mess as possibly, they might actually be able to help. They had just had breakfast, at the same tavern as yesterday, and now they were just riding about, not certain to what they should do. They had talked to a lot of people, and the trouble seemed clear – Isaac wanted Athos gone. Athos didn't want to go. They were just not certain on how to deal with the trouble unless Isaac decided to ride up to them and introduce himself.

"One detail befuddles me." Aramis said, thinking out loud. "If Isaac wants Athos dead… Why hasn't he killed him?"

"What do you mean? He shot him?" D'Artagnan wagered, not keeping up with Aramis' thoughts.

"In the side. Didn't hit anything vital. And he was shot close up. Isaac could've levelled that pistol to Athos' chest instead, or his abdomen, and he would be dead. Even a fool can kill a man standing six feet away."

Porthos and d'Artagnan sat quiet as they realized what Aramis was saying. He was right. If Isaac wanted Athos dead – Athos would be dead. And he wasn't, as far as they knew. He had been injured alright, banged up properly, but they had let him go and allowed him to get back to Paris. That could've easily been prevented had they wanted to. But for some reason – to which they would all be eternally grateful – Isaac had let Athos live.

"It makes no sense." Porthos mumbled, as he pulled Flip into a halt, and dismounted. They had been riding out towards a small inn, which had been abandoned for years. It was located just by the outskirts of the town, and Madame Sergeant had told them that Isaac and his men had been sighted here several times. They had of course decided to immediately sneak up to it.

Aramis and d'Artagnan jumped off Belle and Buttercup as well, the horses immediately wandering off a bit to have some fresh grass. The men never worried, they knew their horses always stayed close enough if needed.

They started carefully, sneaking up to the old building, mindful not to make a sound that could give their arrival away. D'Artagnan came up to a window, and took a deep breath before he peaked in. He then sighed loudly and shook his head as he turned to meet Aramis and Porthos' eyes. It was empty – not any sign of life could be seen inside the building. They were not here.

D'Artagnan turned to the other and was just about to open his mouth as the window behind him shattered into a million pieces as a little silver ball went through it.

The trio threw themselves down, taking cover behind whatever they could find as several shots rang out into the otherwise so quiet winter morning. Hands over their heads, knowing they could not just peak up and fire back without literally losing their heads, they sat still on their knees, waiting for the shots to die out. And they eventually did, the sounds diverting into the sounds of galloping horses instead. At this, all three men looked up, and they could see three riders gallop away in fast speed over the open field stretching out nearby. They were flat out galloping, and they were already too far away for the Musketeers – even for Aramis – to shot them.

But it was not like they were known for sitting around rolling their thumbs after just being shot at. D'Artagnan was the fastest runner of them, and while he ran he pressed his tongue to the top of his mouth and whistled loudly. It didn't take long for Buttercup to catch up with him, coming up on his right side in canter. Without stopping, he grabbed onto her mane with one hand, the saddle with the other, and with two quick bounces in his step, he jumped up in the saddle without breaking a stride. The minute he was safely in the saddle, the chase was on. Buttercup knew what he was asking, and he was giving her full go ahead.

Buttercup is a horse of long legs and great stamina, and on this plain open field, her speed was fast. Knowing her mission, she would press on as hard as she could, and they were gaining up on the shooters fast. D'Artagnan couldn't help but to smirk, as he knew the shooters would soon be close enough for him to use his pistol, and shortly after that he would have caught up to get a hold of the others.

There was just a slight glitch in his plan - he had not seen the big ditch in the field, hidden in the deep grass. And unfortunately, neither did Buttercup.

At the speed they were keeping, the big animal had no way of preventing the fall as both of her front legs suddenly disappeared underneath her, causing her to vault forward, her neck slamming hard into the ground. There was a second of falling, a second of watching the ground coming closer and feeling the horse moving too fast, without control of its' legs as gravity is claiming its right. It is a second of complete helplessness when all your brain is thinking about is just about how much this will hurt. D'Artagnan managed a loud yelp in surprise before all air was forced out of his lungs, as 1300 pounds of horse slammed into his upper body. This was followed by the panicked moment when there is no way for any human to possibly inhale anything into the completely empty lungs, due to the pressure being too heavy for the ribcage to expand. D'Artagnan's body was screaming at him, every reflex in his body shouting for him to inhale, every part of his body craving the life-giving air.

This second was followed by another panicked moment as Buttercup rolled, the pressure from his chest being removed as she rolled down his legs, but the big hooves were moving without Buttercup being able to see anything underneath her – this is the moment where a rider gets injured. When a hoof accidentally step on any part of a human body, as the horse is putting all its weight on that leg, seeking to find footing. One of Buttercup's rear hooves stepped on d'Artagnan's thigh, but the clever animal immediately moved her hoof as she felt a body underneath her, before putting all her weight on it, finding solid ground instead, before heaving herself up on all four, coming to still standing over him. Buttercup seemed just as shocked as d'Artagnan as she stood there with her legs shaking, wonder what had just happened. Getting some wits back, she lowered her head to look around her, realizing she was standing above her master who was still wheezing on the ground as he was sprawled out on his back, she was extremely careful as she walked a few steps, before coming to a standstill next to him, the mare panting as hard as her rider.

When a horse falls with its rider to the ground, it's usually back up within a heartbeat, but to anyone watching – and especially to the rider underneath – it feels like an eternity. Aramis and Porthos sure thought so as they watched how the rookie and his black mare went down hard into the grass. They had been galloping fast to catch up, but had not been as fast to mount as d'Artagnan had been. This had probably saved them as they managed to haul in their horses before coming to the ditch. The two of them reined in their horses, and both Belle and Flip carefully trotted through the ditch.

"Go, go, go!" Aramis shouted to Porthos, and Porthos shot d'Artagnan a worried look before galloping away. Aramis threw himself off Belle before she had even slowed down from the trot and ran a few steps before throwing himself down on his knees next to d'Artagnan, a hand on his wrist and the other on his cheek. "D'Artagnan? D'Artagnan, can you hear me?"

D'Artagnan's eyes flailed open wide in panic as he heard Aramis' voice, and the arm Aramis was holding shot up, the fingers forcefully gripping the front of Aramis' doublet. Aramis let d'Artagnan keep the grip of him as he leaned forward, unbuckling d'Artagnan's weapons, belt and then unlaced the leather strings holding the youngsters doublet together. Aramis placed the hand that had been gripping d'Artagnan's wrist across his chest instead, his fingers curling as he gently rubbed d'Artagnan's sternum.

"Easy d'Artagnan, easy, I need you to breathe for me. You're okay, you can breathe, just close your eyes and listen to my voice."

D'Artagnan did as bid, and he shut his eyes closed as he tried everything in his power to focus on his breath and Aramis' voice. It was just so hard to hear the other man due to the loud ringing in his ears. But forcing his lungs full of air, only to exhale for a good 10 seconds, soon put his breathing at a slow, deep rhythm, and he let go of Aramis' jacket, his arms resting at his side as he still kept his eyes closed. As Aramis was sure d'Artagnan wouldn't pass out from the loss of air, he let his fingers escape in underneath d'Artagnan linen shirt, carefully palpitating his upper torso. He was both surprised and pleased when d'Artagnan just groaned a bit, but not a single hitch of bad pain. The ribs were definitely bruised, but the bones seemed to be unharmed.

"How are you feeling d'Artagnan? Back? Neck? Head?" Aramis asked, his fingers moving to massage through d'Artagnan's arms, all his focus on d'Artagnan face to see if any pain shot through it as he moved his hands.

"It feels like Buttercup fell on me." D'Artagnan wheezed, a faint smile on his lips.

"That's really helpful information." Aramis said sarcastically, his hands still examining d'Artagnan's body, now moving to his neck and shoulders. D'Artagnan exhaled a small laugh, his eyes opening at the sound of Aramis' voice.

"I can feel my toes and fingers, there's no pain radiating through my legs, and I can breathe without feeling like I'm about to die. Head is… Well honestly everything is, a bit sore, but I don't think I'm going to be sick. So I believe I'm alright."

Aramis smiled as he helped d'Artagnan to sit up, allowing the youngster to take his time to get steady, settling in behind him for a second to check his head over. A bump was coming along, but there was no blood. Aramis smiled to himself, the terror he had felt mere minutes ago seemed washed away. Aramis guided d'Artagnan to his feet, and moved him over so he could lean against Buttercup. Aramis then carefully palpitated Buttercup as well, a horse falling hard can get badly injured from the impact due to its heavy weight. Aramis smiled pleased to d'Artagnan when the horse never once flinched by Aramis' touch, but the closest-thing-to-a-physician had a feeling that both horse and rider would be incredibly sore in a couple of days time, with every muscle cramping in pain.

Aramis looked up as he heard a rider approach, and he smiled happily as he saw Porthos come towards them. He had all three shooters tied to a rope, and all three men were staggering, but alive. Aramis had a feeling that Porthos never once unclipped his pistol nor unsheathed his sword. He had probably just brought them down with his hands. Porthos was brilliant like that.

"Y'alright lad?" Porthos asked, worried as he eyed d'Artagnan from head to toe.

"A bit sore but limbs are still attached."

"That's always positive!" Porthos boomed, his face turning into a wide smile before he looked over his shoulder. "Let's ride back, ey. We have some talking to do with these gentlemen."

D'Artagnan and Aramis nodded before Aramis helped d'Artagnan up into Buttercup's saddle, the Gascon wincing but settling into the saddle. He walked Buttercup for a while, just feeling her movements underneath him, making sure she had not gone lame. Feeling her carefully threading forward, he let one of his hands go of the reins as he smoothly scratched her crest, glad that she was feeling all right. He looked behind him and gave Aramis a nod of approval, and his older comrade smiled happily as he rode closely behind them all, making sure the shooters were not up to any mischief as they headed towards Athos' manor where they would be able to sit down and have a nice little conversation.

There you go, if you ever wondered how it feels landing underneath a horse, now you know! ;D