Authors Note: I know it's been a couple of weeks, sorry about the delay. I should have known that as soon as I started posting, something would change in my life that would interrupt my updates. I've got another chapter for you now though so I hope the wait was worth it.

Disclaimer: I do not now nor ever shall own ANY character related to the Musketeers. Those wonderful creations belong to Alexandre Dumas.

Chapter 2

Blinding sunlight, that was the first thing Aramis was aware of. His eyes remained closed but the rays shone through his eyelids so brilliantly it made his head hurt. As his consciousness grew, so did his awareness. He heard the sound of hushed voices nearby speaking to softly for Aramis' throbbing head to make out what they were saying. With a soft groan he slowly opened his eyes. He was sitting up against a tree, hands bound if front of him and a gag in his mouth. Aramis raised his hands to block the sun from his eyes allowing time to adjust to the change. It was still early morning, if the height of the sun had anything to say about it, and the air was still brisk from the autumn evening, so he had only been out for a few hours. Aramis glanced over to the fire to his right and noticed the two men who had rudely invaded his camp the previous evening.

The pain hit as he remembered why he was waking to find himself tied up, unarmed, and leaning against a tree. His entire body hurt, but it was a dull ache compared to the flames engulfing his left thigh. He leaned forward and grasped the outer edge of the wound as well as he could with bound hands. Looking at it now he noticed that it had been, at the very least, cleaned and crudely stitched. Aramis groaned through his gag and fell back to his previous position trying to put the pain out of his mind. He was trying to understand how this could have happened. His entire mission IN Spain had gone unhindered, for the most part, and not even a full days ride from home he had been ambushed in his own campsite, most likely concussed, bound and gagged, and had a bullet hole in his leg. Maybe Porthos was right, maybe all that time away had made him careless. His muscles had taken some time to get back into fighting shape but it had come naturally. Aramis sighed in frustration and closed his eyes once again, hoping that maybe it was all a bad dream and he could open them back up and everything would be as it should be.

No such luck however, for when he did open them again the larger of his two captors, was walking towards him. Squatting down in front of the musketeer, the dark haired man removed the cloth from his mouth.
"Well Musketeer, it's nice to know you aren't dead," he grinned and held out a water canteen.
Aramis, only now realizing how dry his mouth felt, accepted the offered drink thankfully and downed several mouthfuls before handing it back to his captor. Aramis coughed as his sore throat was satisfied.
"If I may, not that I'm complaining mind you, why am I still alive?" Aramis asked knowing that Athos would have smacked the back of his head if he could.
Never ask why they haven't killed you Aramis. They may change their minds as soon as you open your mouth. His mind brightened at the thought of his brutally honest friend.
Smiling the smaller man walked over to the conversation, holding a piece of parchment that Aramis recognized as the information he had worked for so long to bring back to Paris.
"We want to know who your contact in Spain is, and how you came to retrieve this information."
"Right," Aramis cleared his throat and looked the men their eyes, smiling, "well that's never going to happen so you may as well let me go."
Both men looked at one another and laughed at Aramis' attempt to lighten the mood if nothing else.
"We've got a joker Tomas" the man holding the letter slapped the other, Tomas, on his shoulder laughing.
"Yes looks like, I've always hated the joker."
"What are you talking about? You are quite the funny man when you want to be."
"You know, you're right Antone. I do however know when the proper time for jokes is. Which is not when I'm held captive by people who want to know information that I could never give up for fear of getting someone killed."
"When you're right, you're right. So I guess this guy's right. We should just let him go and bring this information back to his comrades. Who would in turn use said information to stop any further communication from the palace, effectively wiping out any and all intelligence on further military movements. In a sense cutting out our very eyes to all enemy actions."

They both looked at Aramis who had sat unmoving since his previous statement.
Yeah I didn't really think that would work. It did however tell me that there IS only one spy in the Palace, so that's something. This knowledge is useless however if i don't get out of this mess.

Roughly pulling Aramis to his feet they half dragged him across the campsite.
"Tomas, we should wait till nightfall." they were speaking in Spanish but naturally Aramis understood every word. "This close to the capitol someone is bound to recognize his uniform."
It seemed as though they had already discussed this very problem, which was the conversation Aramis had probably interrupted when he woke.
"True," he paused and thought for a moment. He looked at his captive and glanced at his right shoulder, "but that is a problem easily solved."
They paused when nearing Aramis saddled horse, and Tomas pulled out a knife letting go of his grip on his captive. Aramis, without the extra support on his wounded leg, fell to the ground, groaning in pain. Tomas knelt down above him and grabbed the rough rope around his wrists. Twirling the knife carelessly in his left hand near Aramis' face, Tomas seemed to decide something in that moment and cut the rope off his sore hands.
"Take off your pauldron."
Aramis looked at the man as if he had gone insane. I took it off once willingly, and it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. And this man thinks that I can do it just like that? I only just got it back! NO! If he want's it so badly he's going to have one hell of a fight on his hands.
Aramis looked up into the man's eyes with a fury he didn't know he had.
"Never going to happen!"

"I thought you might say that, Antone, hold him down."
Aramis lashed out with a vengeance , injured leg forgotten, but these men were stronger than they appeared. Antone soon had his right arm held tight across Aramis' neck, with his left twisting Aramis' left arm behind his back. Still trying to wiggle loose, Antone was forced to tighten his grip around Aramis' throat. He gasped for air, his face turning red. Tomas had his knee across Aramis' legs and was gripping his right wrist keeping the arm extended. He brought his knife closer to Aramis' pauldron and cut away the strap around his arm. Aramis let out a growl that would have made Porthos proud, and glared at Tomas with all the fury he could muster. The moment the knife cut through the leather on his shoulder, Aramis let out a roar of frustration and threw his head back slamming it against Antone's nose with a sickening snap.

Antone screamed in pain and released his hold on Aramis. Taking advantage of the situation Aramis punched Tomas in the face sending him backwards falling into the grass. Aramis then turned back to Antone and grabbed the letter from his bloody hand. His grip on the paper was stronger than Aramis thought however and it ripped into two pieces. The musketeer crawled to his feet gasping for the air he had been deprived of and limped the rest of the way to his horse and rode as fast as he could out of the encampment and down the road towards Paris. As he rode he became aware of the fact that he had torn his stitches and the wound was once again bleeding. It didn't matter right now. He had to reach Paris. Nothing else mattered not now.

Aramis didn't know how long he had been riding before he heard them behind him, it could have been 5 minutes or and hour. The headbutt he gave to Antone hadn't helped his concussion at all and the world around him was growing foggy. A shot behind him renewed his determination to get away, but he knew they weren't going to make it at this pace. His horse would burn out before they even got close. He had to make a decision and fast. There was still a large enough gap between him and his pursuers that he had time to stop shove the torn letter into the saddlebag and smacked his horse on the rear and sent a prayer that he would make find his way home. Aramis dove into the cover of the trees, stumbling through the underbrush as the blood continued seeping from his reopened wound. Every step was agony, fire shot up his leg every time he moved, and his vision began to swirl. He was forced to concentrate on what he was doing, step, step, step. His adrenaline was almost fully depleted and he didn't notice he was falling until his face met the dirt.

Breathing heavily he tried to get back on his feet, only to discover that his body would no longer obey him. He could move enough to turn himself onto his back and stared at the sky through the leaves of the surrounding trees. It was going to be a beautiful day. The birds were singing in the distance, the light autumn breeze made him shiver slightly, but the sun was shining through the trees, and Aramis was upset that it was a day that he couldn't be a part of. Aramis suddenly came back to his senses and remembered the note. What if his horse never made it back to the Garrison, he was a smart beast, but could he remember his way home? It was also ripped... what if the name of the traitor was missing? If he didn't return within a certain time, surely his friends would come looking for him. Right? Aramis wasn't so sure anymore... everything had changed. Especially with Porthos. Would he even WANT to find me? Maybe it would have been better for them had I stayed away. Out of their lives just like they had learned to accept as the new normal.
No they would come. He had to believe that. If there was one thing he could believe in, it was that his friends would never abandon him to death, no matter how angry they were at one another.

It was moments later that Aramis could hear the sound of movement from the direction he had come.
"It was a valiant attempt Musketeer, but you should have known you wouldn't get away that easily," Tomas crouched down and grabbed Aramis under his arms and pulled him up to his feet.
"You can't blame a man for trying."
Aramis swayed keeping his weight off his injury as much as possible. Antone stood nearby, blood dried to his face as he gingerly touched the brim of his nose, trying to decide if it was broken or not.
"Antone stop standing there and help me with him."
Antone begrudgingly walked over and heaved the almost unconscious musketeer over his shoulder.
"Thank you my friend, I may be slightly taller than you but you far surpass me when it comes to strength." Tomas smiled as they headed back to their horses they left by the road.
Antone grinned and looked at his friend "That is because I don't overindulge myself Tomas, like some do with their drink."

Aramis was loosing his battle with consciousness once again as the pain was becoming to much for him to bare. He had done all his battered body could do. Now it was time to accept the hand that had he had been dealt, and pray for the best outcome.

UH OH what's Aramis got himself into this time ;) I hope that it will appease you guys for the longer wait. I've got the rest of the gang in the next chapter, so something to look forward to. I'm not sure when the next update will be so please be patient with me. I'll do my best. Thanks for reading, please let me know how you liked it.