A/N: Thank you Greenlips24, SnidgetHex, and pallysd'Artagnan for reviewing the last episode!

Chapter 1

D'Artagnan sat on a picnic blanket in the dragon compound yard, angling a small pocket mirror so it caught the reflection of the sun and sent a spot of shiny light onto the ground. Ayelet pounced. She squawked when she failed to capture the elusive prey and spun around in search of it. D'Artagnan tried to smother a laugh as he shifted the mirror, trailing the beam across the ground. Ayelet went skittering after it.

Constance smacked his arm. "Stop teasing her."

D'Artagnan grinned and waited for the baby dragon to leap on top of the light before quickly pocketing the mirror. "She likes chasing it."

"Yes, but she can never really 'catch' it. It will frustrate her natural instincts." Constance patted the blanket beside her and Ayelet scampered over, lifting her head so Constance could scratch under her chin. "We can start giving her mice to hunt soon," she added. "And when she's older and her wings developed enough to fly, we'll let another dragon take her out to teach her to hunt game. Probably Dragor. He's old and patient enough."

D'Artagnan leaned close to Constance's shoulder. "I love that you know all of this," he said huskily.

"Oh? What else do you love?"

He kissed her neck. "Your kind heart." He moved up to kiss behind her ear. "Your beauty." Then her jaw. "And that you love me."

She giggled and turned so their lips could meet. D'Artagnan never got tired of basking in the beauty and passion of his wife.

Then Ayelet bumped them as she scrambled over their legs and snatched up a piece of cheese from their picnic spread.

"Hey, Ayelet!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

But she was already throwing her head back and gobbling down the morsel.

"That's not for you," Constance chided, shooing her away from the rest of the food.

Ayelet's head bobbed as though she was about to burp, but it was a hiccup that made her little body jump. She blinked in bewilderment. Then a second hiccup burst forth—and a belch of fire with it.

D'Artagnan and Constance scrambled to their feet as the flames whisked across the picnic blanket and caught their meal.

"What the…" d'Artagnan sputtered.

"Oh dear. I'll get some refroidi." Constance darted off, leaving d'Artagnan to deal with the little fire currently devouring their picnic.

He grabbed the edges of the blanket and tossed it over the flames, then used his boot to try stomping them out.

Ayelet gave herself a sharp shake, but another hiccup and burp of fire punched its way out. She squawked and flapped her wings in distress.

"Whoa, whoa, okay, take it easy," d'Artagnan urged. He took a step toward her, only to jump back when another hiccup spewed a small stream of fire at him. "Constance!"

"Here!" she exclaimed, rushing back with a pouch of refroidi powder. "Um, you'll have to hold her."

D'Artagnan's brows rose sharply as he tried to figure out how exactly he was supposed to do that. But Ayelet was too small for Constance to simply throw the powder at her face and hope to get some of it in her mouth. Plus the baby dragon was fully freaking out now and scrambling around as the hiccups continued to jolt her little body.

Jean came out of the house then. "What's all the racket?"

"Um." D'Artagnan gestured helplessly at Ayelet as she hiccuped and burped fire again.

Jean's eyes widened. "Don't use the refroidi. She's too small and you don't want to make her gag and have the hiccups."

Constance snatched her hand with the powder away as though stung. "Then what do we do?"

"I'll be right back. Keep her away from the buildings."

D'Artagnan exchanged a dubious look with Constance. How exactly were they supposed to herd a baby dragon and not get singed themselves?

The hiccups were coming more violently now and Ayelet was spewing fire nearly nonstop. Jean finally came running back, wearing a pair of very thick gloves. Stepping around behind her, he swooped in to scoop up the baby dragon and held her up on her hind legs with one hand and began to vigorously rub her sternum with the other. She croaked unhappily, unleashing another burst of flame. Jean wrenched his face away but didn't let go. He kept up the rubbing up and down until Ayelet's fire and hiccups finally sputtered out and she sagged limply in his hands. He laid her down on the ground and stroked her back gently as she panted in exhaustion.

"Is she done?" d'Artagnan asked worriedly.

"Hopefully," Jean replied. "But be careful."

He moved back so d'Artagnan could come around and kneel behind her, taking over petting her comfortingly. She let out a plaintive squeak.

"Easy, girl, you're okay now."

"Should we put her to bed?" Constance asked.

"Give her half an hour to make sure they don't come back," Jean answered. He took off the gloves and handed them to Constance, then grimaced at the decimated remains of their picnic.

D'Artagnan gave Constance a wry half smile as she came to sit beside him. "Never a dull moment as dragon parents, huh?"

She just smiled and leaned over to kiss him.

.o.0.o.

Aramis finished the last bite of his apple and tossed the core into some bushes. He washed it down with a swig from his water canteen, then scooted to the edge of the brook to refill it. Across from him, Porthos sat with his back against a tree, still slowly peeling his apple, the rinds dangling in tight, thin curls from the fruit.

Aramis capped his canteen and turned his gaze to scan the sky for signs of their dragons returning. He and Porthos were on their way back to Paris after a mission to the south of France and they'd stopped to rest and let Rhaego and Vrita go hunt.

The skies were clear, so Aramis reclined back against his saddle and adjusted his hat over his face to catch a little nap. Or at least that had been his intent. He heard the small thwack of something hitting the brim of his hat, followed by another a moment later.

"Porthos," he growled.

"What?" his friend replied.

"Knock it off."

There was a beat of silence and then something hit his hat again. Aramis scowled and lifted it off his face to shoot Porthos a dark glower.

Porthos just gave him an innocent look in return. "Wasn't me."

"Then who was it?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Some feisty squirrel maybe?"

Aramis rolled his eyes. "You're as bad as Rhaego sometimes. Knock it off or I'll have him steal your bandana."

Porthos flashed him a toothy grin. "I'd like ta see him try."

Aramis sighed dramatically. "Fine. I'll let him decide how to get you back. He has a good imagination for that."

Giving up on his nap, Aramis sat up straight again and pulled out one of his pistols to clean and oil instead.

"Best put that away," Porthos said. "They're back."

Aramis huffed and followed Porthos's gaze to the sky where a red and a green dragon were flying toward them. They were still a ways out when something shot through the air—a spiraling net that struck Rhaego square on and wrapped around his entire body, the weighted ends twisting together. Aramis leaped to his feet as his dragon plummeted to the ground. Vrita's shriek echoed across the field and she dove after him.

Porthos swore as he and Aramis snatched up their weapons and bolted into a run. They didn't see Rhaego's crash landing or what was waiting for him on the ground, but someone had fired that damn net. Aramis's heart thundered against his rib cage, amplified by the dragon roar that suddenly rent the air.

They came upon the scene of a dozen men surrounding their dragons. Rhaego was still ensnared in the net, thrashing around on the ground as men with noose poles advanced on him. Several others were facing Vrita, who was hacking and choking as though she'd swallowed some refroidi. One of them lassoed her with a length of chain, dragging her head low so the others could snag her with a noose pole.

Still running full out, Aramis aimed his pistol and fired. The man with the chain jerked and fell. Aramis whipped out his second pistol with his left hand and shot another man, then quickly snapped both back onto his belt and drew his rapier. Porthos let out a raging bellow as he brandished his schiavona and charged.

Four men broke away from the dragons, dropping their poles and chains in favor of their swords. The clash of steel resounded in a discordant screech. Aramis threw flourish aside and fought with unbridled ferocity. Behind his opponents, those blackguards were peeling back part of the net in order to snap a muzzle over Rhaego's face. Several feet away the same was being done to Vrita.

Once the dragons were successfully muzzled, several more men jumped into the fray to overwhelm Aramis and Porthos. Aramis swung viciously at one foe, only for their blades to get locked at the hilts. Someone came at him from behind and slammed the pommel of their sword between his shoulder blades. The force rocketed through his body and dropped him to his knees. Someone grabbed his sword arm and wrenched it back until his elbow nearly popped and his fingers spasmed opened, releasing his weapon. He grunted as his arm was then twisted up and behind him and a boot planted on the back of his knee to keep him on the ground.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Porthos still fighting, but one of the men was coming up behind him with a chain.

"Porthos!"

The warning did no good; the man threw the chain over Porthos's head and pulled back, catching him across the throat. The varlet practically threw himself to the ground, bringing Porthos down with him. The others swarmed him, divesting him of his weapons and settling multiple blades at his throat even as he struggled and gurgled against the chain crushing his windpipe.

"Stop!" Aramis yelled.

Vrita threw her head back, thrashing desperately to break free from the muzzle and nooses around her neck. A net was thrown over her wings.

One of the men stepped forward and held up a hand. The ruffians restraining Porthos eased up enough to let him breathe.

The man, presumably the leader of this band, looked with interest between the two of them. "Are these your dragons?" he asked.

"They're the King's dragons," Aramis gritted out. "We're Musketeers."

The man arched a brow. "Really? Well, not anymore." He nodded to his men. "Bring them too. I think they'll prove valuable."

Aramis bucked against his captors as his arms were pulled roughly behind his back and lashed with rope. Porthos was bound in similar fashion.

"Get the dragons loaded!" the leader barked.

Vrita and Rhaego continued to thrash but the strength of several men was able to keep them in check. A very large, wide wagon bed with four oxen yoked to it was brought over, and then the men began to drag and poke the dragons into the back of it. Vrita and Rhaego tried to resist, digging in their heels and wrenching away, but these men were efficient and ruthless. They brought out acimite spears they used to jab the dragons' flanks and force them into the back of the cart. Then another heavy net was thrown over them and tied to the sides of the wagon. Aramis clenched his jaw in fury at their treatment. He didn't know what these men wanted with their dragons, but it couldn't be good.

With the dragons secured, the wagon driver snapped the reins on the oxen and started them going. Aramis and Porthos were shoved forward to follow on foot. Porthos stumbled, and Aramis threw him a worried look, unable to see the state of his neck from his current position. Porthos looked more furious than hurt at the moment, so that was a good sign.

They traveled for a ways until they came to a small valley with an old fortress set into the side of the mountain. Their little train was led around to a side entrance—a set of massive doors with a dragon's skull and bones mounted above them. Aramis exchanged a look with Porthos; that wasn't at all forbidding.

The doors were pulled open and they were brought inside into a large underground chamber widely lit with torches. Then the doors shut behind them with an ominous thud and the men started surrounding the dragon cart. The net was pulled back and the noose poles seized to force Rhaego's and Vrita's heads up. Other men brought over metal collars that they snapped around the dragons' necks below the muzzles already chained around their faces. They were dragged backward out of the wagon bed then and held down as their wings were fettered.

"Vrita!" Porthos cried hoarsely as his dragon wailed.

The man in charge gestured sharply at the men still restraining them. "Throw them in a cell."

Aramis struggled as they were torn away from the dragons and forced down a passageway. There were several tunnels in this underground structure, and he couldn't tell if they were in the fortress itself or the adjoining mountain, but they were brought to a row of dungeon cells and divested of their weapons belts before they were unceremoniously shoved into the cage. The door was slammed and locked behind them.

Aramis turned to Porthos. "Let me see your neck."

Porthos grunted. "'M fine." Yet his voice came out slightly crackled.

Aramis skewered him with a no-nonsense glare, and Porthos huffed but angled his head back so Aramis could see. There was some bruising but it wasn't as bad as he'd feared. The high collar of Porthos's coat had provided a bit of a buffer on the sides of his neck.

"No trouble breathing?" Aramis checked.

"Not after the bastard let go of the chain," Porthos growled.

Aramis heaved a breath and turned around. "Can we try to…?"

A moment later he felt Porthos's hands blindly fumbling at his as they both tried to undo the ropes around their wrists.

"Stop squirmin' and let me do it," Porthos huffed.

Aramis sighed and held still as Porthos picked at his bonds until they finally started to loosen. Once free, Aramis turned back around and untied Porthos. It was nice to have their hands free, but they were still in quite the predicament.

"What do you think this place is?" Aramis mused out loud.

"Don' know," Porthos replied as he walked up to the cell bars to peer down the corridor. He gave them an experimental shake, but they were solid iron and built well into the surrounding rock. He let out a frustrated growl. "If they hurt Vrita…"

Aramis felt the same. These men were well prepared when it came to capturing dragons. Were they illegal traders? Poachers? What was in store for their dragons? Or them for that matter?

A short while later the leader of the band of men who'd captured them appeared, lip curled up in a satisfied smirk as he regarded his prisoners. "You both had quite a bit of fight out there. You'll make fine contenders."

"Contenders?" Aramis repeated.

"For the ring. Don't worry, you'll find out soon enough."

"It's treasonous to hold the King's Men," Aramis lobbed back.

The man looked unperturbed. "King's Men? You belong to Gunther now. You and your dragons."