So, this weekend's competition was the last one of the season, and it ended with a bang! 12 first prize ribbons speak a clear language. :) This competition season has been one of the best - with over 70 ribbons collected! We do have the best team, and most of all, the best ponies. So proud!

Anyway, here's chapter 12, a bit short but I kinda got stuck at the end so giving you this while I work on the next one. Thanks for all your feedback, you guys are amazing.

Chapter 12.

It was rare to feel inadequate, Aramis thought, as the blade once again swished far too close to his face than he was comfortable with. This man he was fighting was good, and even if Aramis might not say anything out loud, he was well aware of the fact that the man in front of him was winning this fight. He was a lot better at swordplay than Aramis himself.

At first look, it didn't appear to be that many men surrounding the manor, but as they had begun shooting, and then taken up their swords, people had once again appeared from nowhere. Aramis felt like laughing at himself for once again believing they could take on all of Isaac's men without difficulties - they had once again been proven wrong. These men that were attacking were very different in their fighting technique, some of them were definitely trained well while some of them were typical farmers with pitchforks. There was no telling how easy or how difficult it would be disarming each person they met. So far they had all done well, their Musketeer's training and years of soldering giving them the upper hand. But this man Aramis was fighting now were no farmer. This man was a fighter, a warrior, and Aramis knew when he was being defeated.

The heavy broadsword came down his left arm, slicing nicely straight through his leather. He managed to turn away at the last second, only allowing the broadsword the man held to carve out a piece of flesh, not cutting his entire arm off. He could feel the sting in his arm, but he didn't really have time to stop and stitch that now – his opponent's sword came down on his shoulder, same side as his hurt arm, and Aramis yelped loudly in pain as it sliced through the skin and meat, connecting with bone.

Aramis' world was now tilting, spinning dangerously fast, but driven by the fact that he did not want to die yet, he somehow held his ground. Porthos and d'Artagnan had both shouted his name at his yell in pain, but the two of them were still fighting attackers of their own, not being able to help just yet. But they would help, as soon as they could, and that was a thought Aramis held onto. He only needed to fight this man off – not even fight him, he just had to make sure to stay alive – for a little longer, until his backup came.

Unfortunately for Aramis, the man never stopped for a second wind, instead he just ripped the sword back out of Aramis' flesh and attacked again. That was not good. As the sword was yanked out of his shoulder, an intense, hot pain went through him, and no matter how hard he fought against it, he could feel his knees buckle underneath him before meeting the cold ground.

Aramis knew he wouldn't be able to hold this man off any longer, not with his left arm being pretty much useless, bleeding freely. He was dizzy, nauseas, and taking one huge step closer to exhaustion at every parry. He was down on his knees, still forcing his sword up to block blows that seemed to be coming in a nonstop motion. His right arm was throbbing painfully from exertion, and every time the swords chimed together, it sent a wave of pain through the arm. Aramis was literally dying, while the other man seemed to have endless reserves of energy. It was not fair.

He knew he was doomed as he took a second to catch a short breath, and all of a sudden a few fast parries forced the sword out of Aramis' hand, before the opponent's massive sword was coming down to him again, aiming for the wound on his shoulder. And Aramis knew that if the man had actually landed the hit, he would've split him in two.

But he never did manage to do it – a rapier collided with the down coming broadsword of the attacker, and forced it to a halt just an inch from Aramis' shoulder. The protective rapier was so close to Aramis' chin that he could feel the sharp tip of it in his beard, without it breaking the skin. It rested for half a second before the rapier forced the broadsword back up again, and took over the fight. Aramis sat on his knees and stared in shock, staring at the scene playing out next to him.

Athos.

Of course it was Athos. He was probably not meant to be out of bed yet, but here he was, and he had just saved Aramis' life. And he was fighting, his face pulled into an angry frown, his sword working fast and a bounce of fresh adrenaline was making his feet jump around quickly. He was fast, his sword hand was – as far as everyone knew – the fastest one in France, and the attacker soon lost his concentration. A thrust, a parry, another thrust, the handle of Athos' pistol connecting with his temple, thrust, slice – and pierce the man's heart. Athos pulled his rapier out of the man and let him drop to his side.

Athos was breathing heavily as he hurried over to Aramis' side, placing a hand on Aramis' shoulder, the one that wasn't bleeding profusely. Aramis smiled gratefully to his brother as Athos grabbed onto Aramis' right hand, placing it on top of the deep wound by his left shoulder. Not until then this Aramis register that he had to stop the blood flow, but as he did he pressed down hard while Athos removed his scarf to use for aid.

The clashing of metal made both men turn their attention away to the fights that were still very much going on. They turned their heads just in time to see Porthos knock another man out by using his head, and d'Artagnan sent a man to the ground by nicely elbowing him between the eyes.

It didn't take long for them to take over their fights and send their attackers hard into the ground. They looked around, not sure where the army they had fought had suddenly gone off to, not realizing most people had just taken a run for it as Athos came barging out of the trees. Porthos smiled widely in pride as he realized they were still standing after the fight, and he hurried over to d'Artagnan side, he youngster with his hands on his knees, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, but with a big smile as well plastered on his face. Porthos placed a big hand on his shoulder, and d'Artagnan straightened his back, nodding to Porthos before the two of them turned their heads towards Aramis.

A surprised look passed both of their faces as they saw Athos sheathing his sword before taking a firm grip of Aramis' elbow.

It didn't take long for all four to catch up with each other, inspecting each other. D'Artagnan was visibly tired, but watching his friend in a far worse state sent his adrenaline pumping, and he immediately took a hold of the situation.

"We need to deal with this fast Aramis, you are losing a lot of blood." D'Artagnan said as he looked over Aramis' shoulder. He did not like the sound of Aramis' rapid breathing, nor the pale, clammy skin of his.

Aramis nodded, he knew that already. He had been clamping a hand down onto his shoulder since Athos came to his side, but the blood was still oozing steadily from the deep and wide cut. Aramis attention was not on his shoulder though, but on the man in front of him who was standing as stoic as ever – but all of them could definitely see his pain.

"Athos?" Porthos asked, coming up next to him and gently putting a hand on his wrist. Athos couldn't help himself but to lean in closer to Porthos, and Porthos pulled him into a great bear hug. They had been worried about him as they left – but now he was all of a sudden right here, standing up, breathing and alive. As Porthos let him out of the hug, an arm remained around Athos' waist, keeping him upright. He was swaying.

"Come on, let's get the two of you inside. You alright with him?" Porthos said, the later a question for d'Artagnan who gave him a nod. Porthos kept his arm around Athos' waist for support, and d'Artagnan moving closer to Aramis, putting an arm around him and guiding him inside. All four of them made it back into the mansion, finding the dining hall they got Athos to lay down on his back on a couch, after Porthos helped him remove his clothing, Athos' eyes closing and breathing heavy. He was not meant to move that fast just yet, and his world was spinning.

With Athos calm and resting, both Porthos and d'Artagnan turned their attention on Aramis, getting him to lie down on the table, Porthos leaving the room to get buckets of water and supplies they would need, as d'Artagnan got his dagger out and begun working his way through Aramis' clothing. He would have to stitch it up later, right now he was getting more worried by the second as he was watching his friend on the table.

Aramis' skin was deadly white, lips and nails turning a faint blue, his heart racing in his chest and his breathing rapid and shallow. He kept his eyes closed, but remained conscious.

As Porthos returned he placed the buckets down before taking hold of a pillow, placing it underneath Aramis' legs as he had been taught to do, before grabbing the woollen blanket d'Artagnan had woken up underneath, covering Aramis with it to keep him warm, only leaving the injured shoulder free. He did not like how cold his body had turned so fast.

D'Artagnan went to wash his hands as Porthos moved to Aramis' head with a clean rag that he pushed down on top of the wound, removing Athos' scarf which was soaked in red blood, pushing Aramis hand out of the way. The stubborn hand was still moving back there, and Porthos took hold of Aramis' wrist and pushed it down underneath the blanket.

"No touchin', let us help you."

Aramis just blinked in response, his body not comprehending enough anymore to put up a fight, at least not a fight against Porthos.

D'Artagnan came back and walked in Aramis' line of vision, and cupped the man's chin in his hand, turning his face to look at him. Beads of sweat were glimmering on his forehead, cheeks, dripping from his beard, his eyes were glazed and didn't seem to focus, and his face was a deadly shade of ashen.

"Aramis. I put a dagger in the hearth. Should I use it?" D'Artagnan asked the man, really not liking to cauterize wounds, but knowing sometimes it was necessary, and he could see the white of the bone glowing deep down into the wound.

Aramis nodded quietly. He still hated that part. D'Artagnan squeezed his wrist before leaving to get the dagger, returning shortly thereafter.

"I need to tell you now," Aramis mumbled, stumbling upon his own words. "Because I'm afraid… you use that I will not be able… to remain awake. In one of my saddlebags is a paste… yellow colour, smells of garlic… Use that after it's been stitched, will you? For Athos as well."

D'Artagnan gave his word, as Porthos moved up behind Aramis, pulling him gently closer to his chest, lacing his fingers with Aramis' and pressed their hands towards Aramis' chest, grounding him and to keep him still, allowing d'Artagnan to work without accidentally making the wound worse. Aramis was breathing heavily towards Porthos' neck, and the bigger man kept whispering sweet nothings into Aramis' ear. That didn't help as his skin made a loud hiss, the dagger pressed against his flesh. Aramis muffled screams filled the house, echoing through the hallways, before he finally succumbed to darkness.

As Aramis woke, the first thing he noticed was pain, a sharp ache radiating through his entire left arm, forcing his eyes open. He was in a bed, his arm stuck to his body with a well-made, very tight sling. Turning his head, he saw Athos, in a bed next to him sleeping peacefully. It took him a few moments of ransacking his brain before he remembered the events that had taken place, and the intense pain in his arm made sense all of a sudden. Stupid sword. Using a great deal of effort, he turned his head in the other direction, seeing another bed, where d'Artagnan was sprawled out, twisting and turning a bit in his sleep, but not badly enough for him to experience a nightmare., just a restless sleep.

"Aramis."

His foggy mind comprehended some noise next to him, and turning his head again he met the gentle eyes belonging to Porthos. A big hand snuck in underneath his head, lifting it while bringing a cup to his lips.

"Drink 'Mis. Y'know it's good for you."

He managed a few mouthfuls of the water before he made a sappy attempt to lift a hand to push the cup away, but it was enough for Porthos to understand, and the cup disappeared as Aramis felt his head move back to the soft pillow. Porthos' hand remained on his cheek, and Aramis couldn't help himself but to push into it, his eyes closing.

"How you feeling?"

Porthos was whispering, most likely not wanting to wake the other two injured men up, but it was loud enough for Aramis' mind to comprehend it. Aramis paused for a moment as he tried to feel through his body to give Porthos a proper answer, but everything hurt so it was hard to pinpoint it. Instead he just sighed deeply before answering.

"Cold. Dizzy. Tired. Hurting."

Porthos gave him a short nod before the soft hand disappeared and Porthos left his line of sight, before he could feel something heavy being draped across him, most likely another heavy blanket. Porthos was suddenly back again, lifting his head and pressing another cup to his lips. Aramis immediately recognized the smell of the liquid he usually mixed for his friends when he wanted to relieve their pain – and get them to sleep for another day or so. He had trained them well.

Athos awoke with a yawn, and turning his head he saw Porthos in front of him. His friend looked tired, and Athos had a feeling that he hadn't been able to sleep with all of his brothers in rather crappy conditions. Right now the big man was sitting next to Athos bed, obviously waiting him out, waiting for him to say the first words. Crooking his neck, Athos looked at the bigger man for a while before his eyebrows went down in a frown.

"What?" Porthos asked, frowning as well as he wondered what was going through Athos' mind. "You in pain?"

"Is that flour in your hair?"

The tension and worry that Porthos had been sitting through all night as he kept vigil over his three friends was blown out of the window with those words, and he could feel himself sag in his chair as he let out a loud laugh, feeling like a rock was just lifted off his shoulders. He reached a hand out and placed it on Athos' arm, giving him a gentle squeeze as Athos smiled back at him, grateful to finally have his brothers back at his side.

"Are you well?" Porthos asked.

"Yes." Athos nodded, sitting up carefully in the bed, Porthos prepared to help but allowing Athos to do so himself. "How's Aramis?"

Porthos looked over his shoulder to the bed next to Athos'. He had found a bedroom with several beds next to each other, and as his friends had fallen like flies from exhaustion yesterday, he had gotten them all to bed, bundling them up with soft pillows and warm blankets. Then he had sat down on a chair, leaned back against a wall and watched them as they slept.

Aramis was still sleeping, which wasn't surprising, as Porthos had given him a cup of the sleeping draught that Aramis had taught him how to do. Confirming that Aramis was still out, and resting quietly, Porthos turned back to Athos with a soft smile.

"He's better. Was worried for a while, couldn't seem to get him warm. But he's breathing better and he's got some colour back."

"And d'Artagnan? What happened to him?"

"A little bit of everything. Buttercup fell on him, then he was taken… Y'know what he's like, attracting trouble."

Athos snorted, yes, he knew just how easy it was for the lad to attract trouble. They all had a knack for it, but d'Artagnan always seemed to take the worst hit out of them.

"He'll be alright?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Sore back and dislocated the shoulder, nothing that shouldn't ease up in a few days time."

Athos let out a big yawn, his eyes falling shut without his permission. Porthos couldn't help but to smile as he once again squeezed Athos' arm.

"Go sleep. You need rest, and the other two sleepyheads will be out for a while more."

"I'll sleep. But you need to sleep as well."

"Someone has to keep watch for Isaac and-"

"Porthos. Sleep."

"Wait… You come back and first thing you do is give me orders?"

Athos opened his tired eyes just enough to glare at Porthos, but the corners of his mouth slid upwards just far enough for Porthos to see it. Porthos broke out into a wide smile, patting Athos' arm.

"Glad to have you back. Now rest up."

"Yes sir." Athos mumbled as he drifted off to sleep. Porthos sat next to him for a while before he decided to do what Athos told him to, and after checking Aramis once more he crawled down into an empty bed, and was asleep before his head had even hit the pillow.