A/N: Thank you guests Guest and Laureleaf for your reviews of the last episode! ^_^

Back to the present timeline with this one.

Chapter 1

D'Artagnan waited as Constance paid the merchant they'd come to see. One of the Musketeer dragons had picked up a fungal infection and needed a special cream to treat it. Fortunately, such specialty items could be found in a city as large as Paris. D'Artagnan had accompanied Constance on the errand because…well, simply because he liked spending time with her. She was smart and caring, fearless around creatures that sent most people cowering for cover. And she spoke her mind, a trait d'Artagnan found captivating. Aramis and Porthos liked to tease him, and d'Artagnan always vehemently denied it, but the truth was he was wholly and utterly smitten with Constance Bonacieux.

They finished up at the shop and started to make their way back to the royal dragon den. It was late evening and getting dark; the merchant had been located all the way across the city, making their excursion not a short one. D'Artagnan didn't mind, though. All the more time to spend with Constance.

"Do you want to stop at a tavern for a meal?" he asked. "My treat."

"The sooner we get back, the sooner I can start treating Huron," she replied, then glanced at him as though realizing what he'd meant. "But if you wanted to prepare something while I see to him, we could sit down to eat afterward."

D'Artagnan grinned. "I can do that."

They turned down a side street, only to pull up short as two masked figures stepped into their path. D'Artagnan felt Constance stiffen beside him. He moved to position himself in front of her, but movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention, and he glanced over his shoulder to find two more men had hemmed them in from behind.

"Hand over yer coin," one of the ones ahead of them demanded.

D'Artagnan immediately drew his sword. "I advise you to rethink this."

The sound of scraping steel sliding from scabbards responded. D'Artagnan ushered Constance to the side and behind him so he could see all four men. He was outnumbered, he realized, not that it deterred him. Athos's voice echoed in his mind, lecturing him on caution and restraint, and d'Artagnan waited for the robbers to make the first move.

Two charged him at once and d'Artagnan swung his sword to parry first one and then the other. He whipped out his main gauche so he could meet both opponent blades simultaneously, the shriek of colliding steel ringing through the night.

D'Artagnan planted a boot into the stomach of one attacker and shoved him back several steps. A third from their party leaped in to take his place. D'Artagnan fought with a flurried mix of his temperamental fury and the control Athos had been drilling into him.

Constance suddenly screamed and d'Artagnan whirled to see the fourth mugger had seized her arms and was trying to wrest her purse away. The man backhanded her when she didn't let go, the sound of smacked flesh echoing loudly, and the force sent Constance crashing to the ground.

D'Artagnan threw his main gauche by reflex, the point finding its mark in the assailant's chest. The man fell backward without a sound. D'Artagnan spun back to the remaining three, throwing his sword up in time to block a blow aimed at his neck. With a deft twist, he disarmed his opponent and scored a slash across the man's shoulder. The robber staggered back.

D'Artagnan drew his pistol next and took aim at one of the others getting too close to Constance. The man suddenly leaped onto the wall, the musket ball embedding in some plaster instead, and pushed off with both feet to propel himself across the alley where he landed on his feet and took off at a run. D'Artagnan blinked in bewilderment at the abrupt move, then quickly swung his sword up in preparation of another attack, but the other two were fleeing as well.

D'Artagnan quickly turned to Constance. "Are you all right?" he asked urgently, kneeling down beside her.

She slowly pushed herself upright, looking shaken. "I'm fine." She winced at speaking and gingerly touched her fingers to her bottom lip, which was bleeding and already beginning to swell.

D'Artagnan reached out to brush his thumb over her chin. His heart constricted when she flinched at his touch, even though it was just reflex.

"Come on," he said, giving her a hand up.

Her eyes drifted over his shoulder to the man lying on the ground. "Is he dead?" she asked tremulously.

D'Artagnan sheathed his sword and went to crouch next to him, pulling the mask off. Sightless eyes stared up at him. D'Artagnan's aim had been true and the man had died instantly.

"Yes." He yanked his parrying dagger out of the guy's chest and wiped it clean on the thief's trousers. Then he put it back on his belt and stood to gather Constance into his arms. "Let's get you home and taken care of. Then I'll report this to Captain Treville."

Constance straightened her shoulders and pulled back. "We should tell him now."

D'Artagnan frowned. "Are you sure? I can handle it."

"I'm fine," she reiterated, though her face paled slightly as she glanced back at the dead man lying in the street.

D'Artagnan took her by the arm and steered her away from the sight, back toward the garrison. Her steps never faltered as they made their way up to the captain's office. The door was closed but there was a light within. D'Artagnan knocked.

"Enter," came the response.

D'Artagnan opened the door and held it for Constance to go in first.

"Mademoiselle Bonacieux," Treville greeted from behind his desk. At a second glance at her face, his gaze sharpened and he immediately stood. "What happened?"

"Four men attempted to rob us in the street," d'Artagnan replied. "I fought them, killing one. The other three fled."

Treville glanced between them before focusing on Constance. "They assaulted you?"

She gave a stilted nod. "The one- the one d'Artagnan killed."

Treville flicked a look his way again. "Start from the beginning."

D'Artagnan recounted what had happened, though he hesitated when describing the acrobatics he'd witnessed when the one assailant evaded his shot. It wasn't exactly typical of a robbery.

"I saw it too," Constance put in, and d'Artagnan threw her a grateful look.

Treville let out a heavy exhalation. "There have been increased reports of muggings in the city recently, each one characterized by unnecessary violence on the part of the gang responsible. The Red Guard were supposed to be looking into it."

D'Artagnan let out a derisive snort. "They're doing a great job."

Treville made a noncommittal noise. "It might be time for the Musketeers to lend a hand. I'll put together a map of the incident locations. Perhaps we can figure out where they might strike next." He walked past them to retrieve his cloak. "D'Artagnan, please see Constance home and tended to. I'll send some men to retrieve the body of the man you killed, and we will discuss strategy further tomorrow."

D'Artagnan nodded and followed Constance out of the captain's office. The royal dragon compound was just next door to the garrison, so it wasn't far to escort her the rest of the way home.

Her father was sitting at the table with a glass of wine and a book when they entered the house. His eyes widened in alarm when he saw them and he dropped the book haphazardly as he surged to his feet.

"Constance!"

"I'm all right," she assured him as he came around the table and gripped her arms.

Jean shot a half accusatorial look at d'Artagnan. "What happened?"

"We were almost robbed," Constance answered before he could. "D'Artagnan fought them off."

"Not fast enough," he commented quietly.

"I'm fine, really."

"Come, sit down." Her father ushered her over to a chair, then grabbed a towel off the counter. He dunked the corner of the cloth in the water pitcher and squeezed the excess out over the floor before moving back to Constance and dabbing at her swollen lip. "I shouldn't have sent you on that errand."

Constance huffed irritably. "I've done those types of errands dozens of times. And it's not like they wouldn't have tried to rob you because you're a man. There were four of them."

Jean shot her an incredulous look. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you were attacked by four scoundrels who could have murdered you in the street."

"They didn't. D'Artagnan saved me." Constance glanced at him with a small smile before wincing at the pressure of the cloth on her split lip.

Jean sighed and also looked his way. "Thank you."

"I'm just glad I was there." D'Artagnan couldn't bear the thought of Constance having been on her own and cornered by those thugs.

"Oh no," she suddenly exclaimed. "I forgot about Huron." She placed her coin purse that she had been clutching this whole time on the table and dug out the tin of medicine they'd bought earlier. "I meant to give him this tonight as soon as we got back."

"I'm sure he can wait until tomorrow morning," d'Artagnan said.

"He's already miserable," she insisted.

Jean reached out and covered her hand with his. "I'll see to him." He looked over at d'Artagnan. "Can you finish with this here?"

"I'll be much better with this than rubbing gunk between a dragon's toes," he admitted.

Jean smirked and picked up the tin. Giving his daughter's shoulder a squeeze, he then left.

D'Artagnan dragged a chair over to sit in front of Constance and picked up the towel, folding it over to gently clean more blood away. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked softly, searching her face for the truth.

There was a flicker of annoyance again before her expression fell. "I felt powerless," she said in a low voice.

D'Artagnan immediately took her hands in her lap. "You know I'd never let anything happen to you, right?"

She gave him a small smile. "I know. I'm just not used to feeling…useless."

He smiled back. "Maybe you should start taking a dragon escort with you into the city. No one would mess with you then."

Constance rolled her eyes. "Right, because that's practical." Her expression softened. "You handled yourself pretty well back there. Lucky you were with me."

D'Artagnan's smile slipped. It was fortunate he'd invited himself along on her errand, but at the same time, he knew that fight could have just as easily gone the other way. He'd been outnumbered, and if those ruffians had been just a little more skilled or a little more determined, tonight could have had a very different ending.

But one thing was for certain: he was going to help catch these criminals and punish them for daring to hurt Constance.

.o.0.o.

Porthos sat in Vrita's saddle, his dragon perched atop a church rooftop overlooking a Paris neighborhood. It was their second night out on patrol hoping to catch this gang of thieves in the act. Athos and Aramis with their dragons were stationed on other rooftops several blocks apart, and d'Artagnan was on the ground with Joubert doing foot patrol.

Vrita swung her head left, having noticed something. Porthos followed the direction of her gaze and caught sight of movement down a nearby street. The figures were keeping to the shadows, making it hard to get a good look at them and what they might be up to. Porthos watched intently, eyes tracking them as they made their way up the road until they came to a stop at a street juncture where they stopped. Lying in wait perhaps?

There was a tavern a little ways up the road with traffic coming and going. It wasn't until a lone man exited, his garb the finer cloth of the merchant class, that the figures started to move again, splitting up down two separate alleys.

Porthos nudged Vrita into taking flight, holding on a little tighter than usual since his anchor line wasn't attached. Dragons couldn't land in most of the narrow streets of Paris, so Porthos was going to have to do a drop-in.

From his vantage point, he saw the figures corner the merchant in an alley. One of them carried a club that he thumped menacingly in the palm of his other hand. Vrita swooped overhead just as the thieves began to close in on the merchant, and Porthos jumped from the saddle, bending his knees to absorb the impact as he hit the ground several feet below. The thieves faltered in surprise but quickly recovered, two rushing at Porthos instead. He immediately drew his schiavona and charged forward to meet them head on.

His large blade easily caught the swings of two smaller rapiers striking out, and Porthos used the force of his bulk to drive the men back. Behind them, the other two had continued to rob their victim of his coin, the merchant's frightened blubbering mixing with the peal of metal. Porthos saw the one with the club raise it high to strike the defenseless man, but then d'Artagnan and Joubert arrived. Joubert surged forward and blocked the blow from the club.

Porthos gave a mighty swing of his broad sword, knocking his opponent's blade out of his hand. Then one of the thieves gave a sharp whistle and they all scattered. Porthos took off after one of them, chasing him down a side street.

Up ahead, his path was abruptly cut off by Athos and Savron landing in the neighborhood square. The thief veered right and Porthos grinned; he'd turned down a dead end.

Porthos rushed after him, grin slipping slightly as the man continued to make an all-out run at the dead end wall. Where did he think he was going to go?

But the thief didn't stop; he ran straight for the corner of the wall and leaped, his feet bouncing between the two perpendicular vertical surfaces and propelling himself upward several steps. He twisted at the last jump, landing on his rump on the ledge, and then he swung his legs over the wall and slipped over it to the other side.

Porthos skidded to a stop, flabbergasted. Letting out a low growl, he spun around and backtracked quickly, whistling for Vrita.

She swooped overhead a moment later but had no room to land. Not that Porthos wanted to waste time with that. There was a wagon up ahead loaded with crates sitting next to a single level dwelling. Porthos narrowed his focus and increased his speed. It had been a long time since he'd done anything like this…

He braced himself and went for it, leaping onto the wagon and scaling the crates without slowing for a single beat, and launched himself up to grab a gutter. His foot slipped on the top crate, which went toppling down behind him, and he swung from the roof for a precarious moment before hauling himself up onto it. His heart was racing but he forced himself to get moving again.

Vrita was still circling, trying to figure out what he wanted. As she soared past, Porthos took a running leap off the roof and landed in the saddle. She gave a startled squawk at the stunt, which Porthos had to admit had worked better than it should have if he'd thought it through.

With a squeezing of his thighs, he directed Vrita to veer sharply back toward where the thief had fled. Aramis, it seemed, had already picked up the pursuit from the air with Rhaego. But after weaving over several streets, the russet dragon pulled up short to hover in the air.

Porthos and Vrita caught up, coming to a suspended stop next to them. "Where'd he'd go?" Porthos asked.

Aramis's mouth was pressed into a thin line. "Somewhere we can't follow." He shot Porthos a meaningful look.

Porthos shifted his gaze to the neighborhood directly ahead, and his shoulders drooped. It was the one place in all of Paris they would never be able to penetrate—the Court of Miracles.