Really had to focus to get this down before bedtime, as I am going off for another full weekend of competing. I really do like this chapter, and crossing my fingers that you do to. Hope you enjoy, next chapter (which is nearly done) will be posted in the beginning of next week. Thank you for your patience! :)

Chapter 11.

As d'Artagnan opened his eyes, the first thing he could see was a sparkling fire in front of him, with logs placed in the hearth mere minutes ago by the looks of it. He blinked his eyes slowly, trying to comprehend where he was, and what had happened, and it took him a moment to remember that he was safe under observation of his brothers. He was lying on his right side, his left arm still neatly attached to his body with Aramis' blue sash holding it down. Moving his fingers hurt, but not as bad as it had been before Aramis had reset the shoulder for him.

He moved his toes, feet, fingers and hands, trying to breathe life back into his sore body before he even dared to sit, which took a huge effort. Bracing himself with his right hand towards the floor, he took a few deep breaths as he looked around, a thick woollen blanket had fallen off him as he sat, he was on the floor in front of the hearth in the massive room. There was no sight of his brothers, but he could easily make out their voices from the kitchen. Preparing himself, he got onto his feet, his hand once again steadying him by using the wall, and he took a moment to get balance back before he begun walking.

His entire body felt like it had been run over by a four-horse carriage, but he was still alive. His could feel his back ache by every step he took, and his ribs were burning. His throat was raw, and he was slightly terrified that he would begin coughing, because there was just no way he would be able to fight off a cold as well.

Stepping into the kitchen, he stopped for a second in the door, holding the doorframe, as a smile spread across his lips, the joy from watching his brothers diminishing the pain.

Both Porthos and Aramis were only wearing their linens on their upper bodies, but still with their trousers and boots on below. From the looks of it, they had tried to bake some bread, but somewhere along the way things had gotten out of hand. The entire kitchen, from floor to roof, was absolutely covered in white flour. It might've something to do with the fact that both of them were holding a bag of flour, running around the kitchen whilst shaking it, having the white powder spreading like wild clouds throughout the room.

By the time the large bags were empty, both men were absolutely covered in flour, laughing and giggling like schoolgirls, and d'Artagnan wasn't slow on joining the laughter. And it felt good! It had been a long week with so much worry, angst and pain, and the laughter coming from his brothers was a very nice change in atmosphere, relieving thick tension that had been held back for a long time.

By the sound of d'Artagnan's hearty laughter, Aramis and Porthos both turned his direction, and as Porthos turned his back to Aramis, the cheeky man couldn't help but to quickly write in the flour on Porthos' back. Porthos reacted quickly, turning around and grabbing a tight hold of Aramis' hand, pulling him up next to him, not daring to let go of the hand.

"What are the two of you doing?" D'Artagnan finally managed to squeeze out, trying to settle the pain the laughter had caused his body.

"We were baking bread." Aramis grinned widely.

"Then let me please be the first to inform you, that you are not doing it right." D'Artagnan replied, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

"Well not all of us are as good of a baker as you, lad." Porthos grinned while trying to swat away some of the flour from his curly hair. In the meantime, Aramis had managed to wiggle his hands free, and was trying to get flour off his clothes and face as well, giggling as Porthos was shaking his head, trying to get it out of his tiny curls. Aramis had a feeling they would find flour in that hair for weeks to come, no matter how many times he washed it.

As they all settled a bit, Aramis walked forward to give d'Artagnan a hand into the kitchen, placing the hand gently on his right elbow, and guiding him down into a chair before he begun removing the sash.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Aramis asked as he gently probed the youngster, carefully massaging his shoulder.

"Sore, but it's been worse." D'Artagnan smiled tiredly. "A day's rest and I'll be fine and fit."

"I don't think a day's rest will be sufficient." Aramis said while lifting d'Artagnan's shirt to reveal the dark bruising covering his lower back. "I really don't like the colour of this."

"A day and a half then." D'Artagnan smiled, changing it into a wince as Aramis carefully nudge the dark bruise.

"Um… I don't think that'll be an option."

Both Aramis and Porthos turned their heads quickly upon Porthos' words, realizing their friend was standing over by the window, looking out through the lace curtains with a grim look on his face.

"You are not serious?" Aramis whispered in shock, his mouth open.

"Afraid so." Porthos sighed heavily, before storming out into the living room where they had left all their weapons the previous night. Aramis placed a heavy hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder in comfort before storming out of the room as well, in search for their doublets and gloves.

It took mere minutes before all three of them were fully dressed and somewhat ready for battle, and that was all the time they had before the first window broke due to a bullet.

"How many?" D'Artagnan asked, trying to keep his voice steady, as he was standing next to the other two in the hallway, where they were safely out of reach of any windows.

"I saw 'bout ten." Porthos answered while making sure his pistols were loaded.

"We can deal with ten. It will be over in a heartbeat." Aramis nodded, checking his weapons as well. "We'll go out by the back door, and try to get them from behind. Hopefully they are foolish enough not to notice us sneaking up on them."

"Let's not underestimate anyone though, if there's any wits in them they should have the manor surrounded." D'Artagnan mumbled as he finished his own pistols.

"They should. Our back-up plan?" Aramis agreed, before questioning.

"Um, hope there's an earthquake and the ground just swallows them?" Porthos offered, to which Aramis couldn't help but to grin.

"That would be helpful."

"Oh! The tunnel! The tunnel is the answer!" D'Artagnan suddenly remembered, and he instantly took lead on the trio, hurrying down into the long hallway of the manor.

"The tunnel… Answer? Wait, d'Artagnan, I never heard the question!" Aramis roared as he and Porthos followed suit, jogging behind d'Artagnan who was very focused on his task at hand.

D'Artagnan pushed open the doors of what seemed to be a study room, the walls lined with bookshelves and every shelf full of books about everything you could ever possible need to read. There was a grand desk in the middle of the room, with a massive chair in front of it, standing on a beautiful, expensive-looking carpet.

Aramis and Porthos stopped by the door as d'Artagnan began shuffling around, pushing the carpet out of the way with his feet, trying to move the desk but with his exhausted body he was not able to. Turning his head in frustration, he only had to send his brother a quick look before the two of them had swiftly moved the desk and chair out of his way, and he was free to roll the carpet sideways, revealing a trap door underneath it.

"Is that what I think it is?" Aramis was beaming.

"It's a tunnel." D'Artagnan smiled, panting from the fast movements, steadying himself against Porthos. "Athos told me about it when we were last here… And the house might've burned, but the tunnel wouldn't have. And rebuilding the house he would've made sure this was still good. He told me it was an escape route if anyone was every trapped in the house."

"Where does it lead?" Porthos asked in the same time as Aramis grabbed onto the rope working as a handle, opening the heavy lid with a jerk.

"Stables." D'Artagnan smiled.

"Well, let's explore, shall we?" Aramis grinned, running out of the room for a minute only to return with one of the torches from the living room, lit with the fire still burning in the hearth. With that in hand, Aramis carefully lowered himself into the tunnel – a round, wide, gaping hole with a stair leading down into darkness. D'Artagnan followed Aramis so he would be between the two of them in case he would falter, and they went in careful speed as Aramis showed the way.

Descending down the stair, they soon came into the actual tunnel, large enough for all three of them to walk erect, and wide enough for them to walk all three next to each other. And it didn't take them long before reaching another stairway leading upwards this time, and they went up the same way they had before – Aramis guiding the light, d'Artagnan hobbling his way forward and Porthos behind as a shield in case the injured youngster would lose his grip.

Just like Athos had told him, the tunnel led to a box in the stables, and as Aramis pushed open the trap door he found himself face to face with Buttercup, who had her head down low to see what was emerging from her bedding. Her nostrils were wide as she was snorting loudly, not expecting to see the men coming out from underneath her. Aramis crawled his way up into the straw and quickly disposed the torch into a nearby bucket of water, moving away to give d'Artagnan space to climb up. Upon seeing her friend, Buttercup whinnied happily and gave d'Artagnan a good lick on the face.

"Urgh, come on honey, move back." D'Artagnan whined fondly, reaching his good arm out to grab a hold of her forelocks, and as he did she backed up, pulling him out of that hole. He gave her a good pat on the neck, leaning at her for support, exhausted from the climb, as Porthos made his way up as well, making sure the heavy lid was closed behind him and straw covered it to make sure Buttercup wouldn't injure herself.

Aramis was by her window, carefully peaking out to try to get a look of where all the bandits were hanging out, and he could spot them right off. They were surrounding the house for sure, but there didn't seem to be so many of them as he had initially thought. Maybe Porthos was right, and there only was about ten, fifteen at the most? They could deal with that, definitely.

"Do we ride, or walk?" Porthos asked, looking to the more experienced soldier for guidance.

Aramis thought about it for a second, not really sure himself. This was matters that Athos usually decided upon, but Athos still wasn't here, and Aramis knew both of his brothers were looking to him right now, he would just have to make up a plan and deal with it.

"We walk. The horses will attract attention. We sneak as close as we can and take as many as we can out with our pistols first. I don't want to engage in a sword fight unless we absolutely have to. We stay together, as closely as we can. We broke the records last time but not without losing one of our own, and I do not intend to let that happen again. This time we stick together." Aramis said determined, looking over to d'Artagnan with a soft smile, before his hand went out in front of him, palm down, their normal little routine before going head first into a big fight, just waiting for someone to say the first words. D'Artagnan placed his hand on top of Aramis', and then Porthos massive hand went down on top of his.

"Let's kill them all." Porthos said boldly with a wide grin.

"That's not our motto." D'Artagnan sighed, but not able to supress the giggles.

"It should be. I think it's about time we changed." Aramis suggested as d'Artagnan just shook his head.

"No, let's stick to the old one."

"One for all and all for one." Porthos blurted out as quickly as possible. "There, I said it. Can we go and kill them now?"

"Patience has never been your strong suit, now has it?" Aramis giggled as he patted Porthos' shoulder. "Well, by all means, lead the way."

And with that, the three of them headed out, each of them giving their respective horses a short cuddle before exiting the stable, heading towards the treeline. Their plan was to stay as far away as possible, as hidden as possible, but still close enough for all three of them to land lethal shots, not just Aramis. They found a spot not much later, and Aramis sent a silent prayer of help before taking down two people straight after each other with his two pistols. He loaded with the help of d'Artagnan as Porthos fired, taking out two more, then Aramis helped him reload as d'Artagnan fired his pistols. They kept up the rhythm for a while until a heavy stream of bandits were walking and riding their direction faster than they could shoot them down. And people ere coming at them from every direction, more people than any of the other times they had been attacked. It appeared that Isaac had decided to go at it at full strength, even though d'Artagnan still couldn't spot Isaac anywhere in the massive crowd.

It didn't take long before the trio of Musketeers had no other choice but to unsheathe their swords, and engage in a deadly fencing match with a lot more opponents that would ever seem chivalrous.

Athos had been riding for hours, a lot longer than it would normally take him to reach La Fére, but he was sore and dizzy enough without trotting and cantering down the small roads of the forest. Walking the entire way had taken him a lot longer than he had anticipated, but all of a sudden, there it lay before him.

La Fére.

He would know those houses anywhere, at anytime, and he could feel the familiar knot in his stomach. Ever since their visit last year with Bonnaire, he had tried to reconstruct this land of his, and mostly rebuild his own character as a Comte. It was nothing he would do for the sake of his own good, but for the good of his people, and mainly because it was his duty. It was what he had to do, and he had been neglecting La Fére for far too long. Upon their return, he had heard the whispers of the townsmen, and he had seen the looks people gave him. He had been terrified about returning, worried what his people would do upon seeing him, but was glad that he was still respected enough for them to simply leave him alone.

It had been a couple of tough days that time. Not only returning to the place that haunted every one of his nightmares, but also meeting people he once held dear, finding Remy dead, and then stumbling upon Anne as she tried to burn the house to the ground with him in it… He had had better days in the manor, that was certain.

But he had made it through, and he had realized back then that if he could make it through that, he would possibly be able to return again. So he had. Taking care of the burned down estate, before prompting to rebuild it again. Simone had helped him a lot, pushing his forward, motivating him and offered council. He had talked to some of the people that once stood behind him, and had been revealed, and a bit surprised, to find out they still stood as tall behind him as ever before. Apparently he still held some authority here, he was not just someone they trusted would come if trouble emerged – they were actually prepared to help him defend it as well.

Emotions always welled up inside of him as he rode through the familiar woods, every snow-covered tree and bush speaking to him, telling him stories about the past. His head was racing with emotions about happy days, and sad days, and there was a roller coaster ride going on inside of his stomach as he lost himself to the memories of a past life.

Roger suddenly stopped so suddenly that Athos almost fell from the saddle, and he jerked his head up, wondering what had caused the big stallion to freeze.

A good fifty yards away were another horse, standing just as still as Roger, out by a clearing in the woods with the trees almost encircling it like a frame, the black horse a great contrast against the white snow, and the woman in the massive, red dress even a greater contrast.

Anne.

He had told her to get out of Paris, told her to leave for England, Spain, anywhere as long as she didn't remain in France. She had not made it far, apparently. Athos mind stood still as he watched her, and she send him a small wave, just a small jiggle of glove-covered fingers, before she ushered her horse onward, to disappear in the white forest.

Athos was just about to follow her when the sounds of clashing swords brought attention to him, and he barely had time to urge Roger into a faster speed before they were galloping through the familiar woods, the horse knowing his intentions immediately and never late to respond.

As he made it to the treeline, with the massive manor out in the open, he came to a sight that was both relieving and terrifying. He could see his brothers, all three of them were before him, standing straight and alive. Porthos was as powerful as ever as he knocked down person after person with what looked like one of Athos' expensive garden ornaments. D'Artagnan was swinging his sword and dagger, and even though he was doing a good job at it, Athos could see that the youngster was in pain, and worn to the bone. He was fighting solemnly on adrenaline and he would for sure not last very much longer without backup.

But what scared Athos the most was the fact that Aramis had a broadsword buried deep in his shoulder, the man holding it laughing wickedly, and before Athos had even stopped to considering any other option, he had unsheathed his own sword, horse and rider barging out from the treeline with a roar of anger, with every intention of ripping that man's head from his shoulders for ever touching one of his brothers.

Just the sight of Comte de la Fére on his massive black stallion with a shining sword raised into the air, coming out of the woods at full speed with snow in a cloud behind them made a lot of the attackers back off, pause and then turn to make a run for it. He was intimidating enough, and every single person in this area knew of his skills with a sword – especially when angry. It was not someone they would care to meet. Athos steered Roger straight into the battle, having Roger knock down quite a bit of people along the way before he dismounted, his focus set on Aramis who was down on his knees, blood gushing from his wound and his face pale. Athos was not about to let him die, and he worked his way through the crowd to get there, his sword in one hand and his dagger in the other, just working his way forward, cutting down anyone in his path with determination in his eyes. Somewhere along the line, his subconscious mind could hear voices of people fleeing around him, and one of the repeated lines caught his ear.

"He's back!"