Hello, all. Remember me? :) I finally finished my new multi-chapter fic and I'm very excited to share it with you. Chapters will be posted as they complete the editing process. Probably once or twice a week.

This story is set a couple of weeks after the end of season one and tells the tale of an epic adventure as two of our heroes find themselves in mortal peril, skill and endurance are stretched to the limit and emotions run high in the race to find them alive.

Hurt, Comfort, Friendship, and Action are the foundation of this little tale and the focus centers around Aramis, though every one of our guys has a big part to play.

If you decide to read, I hope you enjoy and would love to hear your thoughts!

A huge thank you to SpaceCowboy for her wonderful support and additions to this piece. All remaining mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.

Without further ado...

Thy Friends do Stand by Thee

Wednesday morning

As Aramis sat in front of the campfire with his eyes closed to the world and fresh air expanding his lungs, the orange glow of the flames flickered on the inside of his eyelids, creating a play of movement and color meant solely for him.

Sleep had been an elusive creature as of late, chased into submission by thoughts of Queen Anne and his unborn child; a child he knew he would never be able to hold or comfort, his affections doomed to remain hidden and his innermost desires forever out of reach.

Aware of the danger his constant distraction might summon for everyone around him, he had been trying to quiet his errand thoughts ever since the Queen's pregnancy had been announced two weeks prior.

While he would never attempt to banish his son and the woman he loved from their rightful place in his heart, he knew he needed to find a way to extract them from his mind if he was to continue to serve his King as a Musketeer and uphold the Brotherhood that meant so much to him.

Sitting in the Forest of Fontainebleau hours outside Paris, and surrounded by nothing but trees and brush, Aramis' efforts to calm his racing thoughts proved successful at last.

With eyes still closed, he enjoyed the peace that had eluded him for weeks, silently mapping his surroundings by the sounds he had grown accustomed to since he had volunteered to take watch.

The wind rustled a tune in the crowns of the trees and he felt its cool touch on his face as it blew through his curls. Enveloped by the heat of the fire in front of him, the generous flames warmed his very core while the crackling sounds issued from glowing embers proved almost sufficient to cover the soft snores emanating from his left, where his captain slept soundly.

Above him, he registered the intermittent hoot of an owl while the rustle disturbing the underbrush to his right was likely caused by a rodent scurrying about the forest floor. A soft snicker and the muffled scrape of hooves against fallen leaves reminded him where their horses stood, tied to a tree, just beyond the fire.

Even without glancing at the night sky and the constellations above, Aramis felt dawn approaching as the crisp air and his inner clock heralded the new day and the continuance of their mission.

Hushed voices in the distance shattered his serenity. Nothing more than cryptic whispers that a less battle-honed soul might mistake for the breath of the wind.

Aramis' eyes snapped open and his body stiffened as all of his senses adjusted to a state of alert.

A rustle of branches joined the crushing of dead leaves. Aramis whirled his head to the right, sensing an impending ambush.

Reaching out, he grasped his companion's shoulder in an urgent effort to rouse the sleeping man.

Treville opened his eyes, wide and honed for action. "What is it?" he asked in a hushed voice as he pushed off the ground, absently running a hand down his face to rid himself of the remnants of sleep.

"We're not alone. Someone is closing in," Aramis whispered, focusing on the darkness beyond the flames. "Over there."

Tilting his head, he also indicated the brush to his right, where the glow of the fire danced against dark shadows. "And there." He locked eyes with his captain. "Whatever we decide to do, we must be swift. They are not yet upon us but they will be shortly."

"Given the option, I'd prefer to go out and meet our fate rather than sit here and wait for it," decided Treville as he grasped the weapons belt sitting next to his bedroll and hurriedly rose to his feet to fasten it around his waist. "The fire will draw them to the campsite. I say we split up and head into the forest." Wrapping his fingers around the hilt of his rapier, Treville freed the blade from its sheath. "You move straight ahead. I'll go right. We circle whoever approaches and attack from behind."

"Simple enough," Aramis remarked, unable to hide a smirk as he gained his footing. Catching Treville's eye, his gaze was met with a raised brow reminiscent of Athos.

"I appreciate your determination, is all," Aramis' said, shrugging in the face of his captain's criticism.

Reaching for the hilt of his sword, he mirrored Treville's earlier movement and freed his rapier from its sheath. The sliding sound of steel, combined with the familiar weight in his hand, never failed to put him at ease, no matter the odds he faced.

When he turned to enter the shadows of the trees in search of the unknown foe, Aramis' blood pumped harder in anticipation of the challenge. But with weeks of contemplating an impossible situation with no hope of a satisfying outcome, he downright welcomed the prospect of venting his frustrations.

His quiet steps were halted by the rushed whisper of his name.

"Aramis."

Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Aramis met Treville's gaze, the orange glow of the fire accentuating the other man's hard and stern features, proclaiming his readiness for battle.

"Be careful in your approach," the captain cautioned. "We know neither their purpose nor their numbers."

"Understood." Aramis nodded his agreement and watched Treville disappear behind the enormous trunk of an oak tree, the black mouth of the forest swallowing his form completely.

As Aramis turned and stepped beyond the ring of light cast by the reaching arms of orange flames, his eyes fought to adjust to the darkness stretching between pines and oaks. The moon spared no effort in its attempt to penetrate the canopy of leaves above, creating scattered rays of pale light that battled the ghostly shadows of his surroundings.

Mindful that he would soon lose the cover of darkness to the rising sun, he strode forward with purpose, hoping to find a way to conceal himself long enough for the advancing party to pass him by and enabling him to covertly approach from behind, aided by the element of surprise.

Keeping his steps light to avoid detection, Aramis carefully navigated moss-covered tree trunks and knotted roots entwined with each other like a gathering of snakes.

After he circled the sweeping branches of a pine tree, he recognized the outline of a large boulder. The gray bodied rock formation stood several yards ahead and represented one of the many this forest was famous for.

The rocks' most striking aspect was its resemblance to the domed shell of a giant tortoise; the horny shields of a life turtle perfectly imitated by large scales carved into sandstone. Drawing closer, Aramis realized this oddly shaped rock would serve his purpose perfectly.

Tall enough to conceal a grown man to anyone passing on the other side, Aramis pressed his back against the boulder, attempting to melt into the shadows cast by the stony creature.

Roughly a minute had passed since he left the campsite and his enemies wouldn't be far.

Grasping the butt of his loaded pistol with his free hand, Aramis pulled the weapon from his belt to aid his rapier in the upcoming fight. The comforting weight of a familiar weapon in each hand provided all the confidence necessary to put his mind at ease.

Allowing his head to fall back and connect with the jagged surface behind him, he exhaled slowly, savoring the calm before the storm.

While the cold of the rock at his back penetrated his leathers and slowly seeped into his bones, he closed his eyes, listening for any sign of his attackers. The image of three familiar faces suddenly flitted through his mind's eye and he found a moment to regret the fact that his brothers were not with him.

He and Treville formed a formidable team, though Aramis felt certain that he would sorely miss Porthos' strength, Athos' foresight and d'Artagnan's determination in the coming hours.

His eyes snapped open with the crunch of pine needles, pulling his spine taut like a bowstring.

Tightening his grip on his rapier, Aramis stepped sideways toward the end of the shell, his back sliding along the rock, careful not to make a sound.

As the footfalls of his adversaries slowly moved past his hiding place, Aramis rounded the tail end of the giant turtle and chanced his first glance at the enemy.

Staring at the backs of two men clad in black leather and visible only because the faint light of the moon bore witness, Aramis watched them carefully creep through the underbrush in direction of the campsite.

Exhaling slowly, he mentally prepared himself for combat, drawing a plan of attack in his mind.

Without further delay, he flipped his pistol to grasp the barrel in a secure hold and broke cover. Before either of the unwelcomed aggressors had the chance to turn at the sound of his hurried steps, Aramis swung his pistol like a club and smashed it into the skull of the man to his left.

As the sickening crack of bone reached Aramis' ears and his victim's body slumped to the ground like a puppet with severed strings, Aramis rounded on the other man still standing; his rapier an extension of his arm, the point sharp and deadly thrust against the hollow of his opponent's throat.

"Drop your weapon," Aramis hissed. "Do it now."

When his adversary raised his chin in defiance and cold eyes stared at him from beneath the brim of a hat, Aramis drove his sword point forward a fraction to force the man's compliance. "I will not ask again."

His opponent accepted defeat with a slump of his shoulders, dropping his pistol onto a bed of pine needles.

"Now," Aramis demanded. "State your purpose."

"Our purpose?" the man repeated, an air of amusement in his voice. His demeanor changed a heartbeat later when his weathered face turned into a snarl and his eyes glinted dangerously in the faint light of approaching dawn. "We came to hunt Musketeers."

Aramis tilted his head and adjusted the grip on his sword to emphasize his words. "You would have done well to remember that Musketeers are not easy prey."

"So it would seem," his adversary teased. "Or would it?"

The smug response triggered a sense of urgency in Aramis and instinct guided his movements as he spun around before the snap of a twig behind him registered in his mind.

Aramis' sword mirrored his roundabout motion, hissing a violent tune as it split the air and caught the rapier meant for his back in a clash of steel. Struggling to regain the upper hand as he faced a third opponent, Aramis pushed against his enemy's blade, desperate to drive his attacker back and give himself room to maneuver.

After two quick steps, Aramis broke the connection between steel with a downward thrust of his rapier creating a screech of grating metal. Driving his sword point forward with precision, Aramis' opponent was forced to parry quickly in the face of superior skill.

With a second well-aimed strike, Aramis forced the man to perform a desperate dance for balance when his blade bit into the flesh just below the right shoulder joint. An agonized scream chilled the air as the pain of the inflicted injury forced its victim to relinquish the grip on his sword.

Before Aramis had the chance to properly subdue his opponent, he was forced to shift focus yet again when the shuffle of pine needles alerted him to the danger still present behind him.

Chancing a glance over his shoulder he found the other man on his knees, arms out front and scrambling to retrieve his discarded pistol.

When his opponent closed his hand around the butt of his weapon, Aramis rushed to aim his own pistol and fired the shot without delay. As the violent discharge shattered all pretense of a peaceful morning, his enemy's head snapped back forcefully with the impact of a lead ball between his eyes.

Still, there was no time for Aramis to gather his thoughts as a glint of metal swept into his peripheral vision. The flash of steel heralded a dagger on its downward path toward the base of his neck as the only remaining foe took advantage of Aramis' momentary distraction to strike.

Throwing his sword arm up in defense, Aramis' heart thumped a violent beat. He realized he would fail to catch the descending blade with his own when the close vicinity of his opponent left him unable to adequately block the blow.

When the opposing main gauche pierced his arm from above, pain crashed into him; a thundering wave overtaking his senses and threatening to drown him as spent air remained trapped inside his lungs.

A violent tremor seized Aramis' injured limb as the blade missed the bone and tunneled its way through muscle and flesh to emerge on the other side, slick with blood.

The shock to Aramis' system threatened to drop him to his knees as his rapier slid from lax fingers and the grotesque image of his skewered arm forced him to swallow convulsively.

Aramis' attacker released the hilt of his dagger, leaving the weapon lodged in Aramis' limb before moving to pull his pistol.

Mindful not to jostle the protruding blade, Aramis curled his mangled arm to his body, forcing his knees to remain locked while fighting to focus past the sensation of burning embers feeding on his flesh.

Simultaneously, Aramis released the spent pistol he held in his left hand and hastily wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his main gauche, feeling his remaining seconds tick by as his opponent's weapon settled on his chest.

Refusing to resign himself to this fate, Aramis thrust his dagger forward, moving faster than his current condition should allow, and sunk the blade deep into the other man's stomach.

Eyes wide with horror, a sharp intake of breath signaled his adversary's surrender as blood spilled over his bottom lip to run down his chin in a stream of viscous red. Legs folding beneath him, the man slumped to the ground, a bed of pine needles serving as his final resting place.

Failing to draw comfort from the sudden silence, Aramis staggered backward, his balance impaired by the debilitating ache caused by the foreign object lodged in his arm.

Closing his eyes, Aramis worked to calm his thundering heart, feeding his starving lungs with slow and measured breaths until his equilibrium restored itself.

Painfully aware of his next move and loath to delay any further, he cursed his less than favorable situation as he opened his eyes and lowered himself to the ground until his knees touched the soft earth beneath him.

Resting his blood-coated dagger on the ground next to him, his left hand moved to hover over the hilt protruding from his forearm, the twisted brass-wire-grip reflecting the first rays of light that cleared a golden path through the swaying branches above.

An angry growl emerged from deep within his chest, baring his frustrations to the world as he folded his fingers around the offending object.

Inhaling sharply through his nose, he gritted his teeth and yanked the enemy's blade from his arm. "Guh. Bloody hell," he exclaimed when his parted flesh released the weapon from its confinement with a sickening sucking sound.

The dagger slipped from Aramis' grasp when he failed to control the tremor that held his body hostage. The fire inside him greedily licked at his wound, causing him to curl in on himself while the crisp morning air stung his nostrils with every rapid breath.

A heightened sense of urgency pushed passed the ache spreading through his system, clawing itself to the forefront of his mind and alerting him to the fact that danger still loomed beyond the cover of the trees.

In addition, the uncertainty of his captain's fate spiked Aramis' concern for the man and doubled his efforts to regain his composure.

Porthos' voice suddenly echoed throughout his mind, demanding him to move, now. Aramis straightened, the familiar tenor of his friend lending him the strength to push on.

With his injured arm resting securely in his lap, Aramis fixed his eyes to the leather sleeve, torn in two places and rapidly changing color as his blood escaped in a river of crimson, alerting him to his first order of business.

Grasping the end of his blue sash with his left hand, he placed the material between his teeth and leaned back to pull it taut. Next, he wound his fingers around the hilt of his dagger, placing the sharp edge close to the knot that secured the piece of cloth to his waist.

With an upward flick of his wrist, he cut the sash, the long piece of fabric falling into his lap when he released his bite on the other end.

After returning his main gauche to its rightful place behind his back, Aramis pushed up his sleeve to survey the damage beneath. Having expected the steady flow of blood that greeted him, Aramis hurried to use the bandage he had created and started to wrap his arm, the necessary pressure causing him to grunt in pain as fiery daggers pierced his skin.

Although the bandage would slow the bleeding, he was painfully aware this solution would only provide a temporary fix as both the entry and exit wounds expelled a worrying amount of red. Blood loss and the risk of infection would be his enemy until such time he could treat the wound properly.

When he looped the sash around his limb one final time, his breath fired in short bursts while his arm throbbed a merciless beat. Once again using his teeth to aid the completion of his task, Aramis pulled the fabric tight and knotted both ends together.

Satisfied with the result of his patchwork, he lowered his sleeve to cover the bandage and hoped that concealing the wound would help him focus past the gnawing pain.

Loath to grant his body any outward sign of weakness, Aramis used a shaking hand to wipe the sweat beading on his brow as he worked to regulate his breathing.

Narrowing his focus, he shuffled forward on his knees, retrieving his pistol from the ground with one hand while reaching for the powder at his waist with the other, intent on reloading his weapon.

Aramis' efforts stalled when a scream echoed within the forest, heralding the next storm on his horizon. It wasn't the volume of the sound, however, but the unmistakable tenor of the voice that shredded his armor and pierced his heart.

Treville.

TBC

And so it begins... :)