A/N: And we're back! Thank you SnidgetHex, Undertheoaktrees, LordLady, beeblegirl, and pallysd'Artagnan for your reviews of the last episode. ^_^ Also thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading and Tessseagull for the Spanish!

Chapter 1

Aramis was reading his Bible by candlelight when there was a knock at his door. He paused with a slight frown; when he'd left Porthos and Athos at the tavern, it was under the misassumption that he was going to call upon a lady for the rest of the night. Aramis hadn't bothered to correct them. The truth was he hadn't indulged in any affairs since Adele, and instead, on the nights he bowed out of the tavern early, it was for an appointment of a more spiritual nature.

So, neither Porthos nor Athos had reason to come looking for him here, and d'Artagnan had dutifully gone home to his wife hours earlier. He thought about pretending he wasn't in; the window was fully draped and his meager candlelight likely wasn't visible. But the knock came again.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened and Treville stepped inside, quietly shutting it behind him.

"Captain," Aramis said in surprise and set his Bible on the nightstand as he rose to his feet.

"Aramis," Treville responded with a nod. "I have a special assignment for you."

His brows lifted slightly, intrigued. "Yes, sir?"

"Louis has written to the King of Spain," Treville began. He reached into the folds of his vest and withdrew a stack of sealed letters bound with red twine. "They must be delivered directly to the King's personal courier. No one else can be entrusted with them. You speak Spanish which makes you the most suited for the errand. There is a Spanish contact stationed at the border in Sanveterre who can send for the courier."

Aramis carefully took the letters from Treville. "How will I verify the courier who comes is legitimate?"

"He'll bear a medallion with Philip's seal," he replied, then paused. "I can't emphasize enough the importance of this mission to the King."

"Yes, sir."

Treville nodded and turned to leave. "And Aramis," he said, hand on the doorknob. "Make sure you leave before anyone else is up." The captain then let himself out.

Aramis let out a long exhalation. Porthos was going to be cross with him for not saying goodbye or where he was going. The captain would have to field his displeasure, though, since the orders were clear that no one was to know about this. Aramis wondered what the letters contained to make them so secretive. France and Spain weren't exactly friends but they had treaties to keep each other in check, not the least of which was a Spanish queen on the throne of France.

But it wasn't for him to know; all he had to do was ensure the delivery of these letters to the right person. He set them in his nightstand drawer under his Bible to retrieve come morning and quickly packed a bag for the trip. He'd have to be up at first light in order to be out of the garrison before too many people were up and about. Fortunately none of his brothers were that much of an early bird. He disliked having to leave without a word, but orders were orders. At least it would only take half a day to reach the border by dragon flight, though he didn't know how long it would then take for the royal courier to be summoned, but hopefully not too long, and Aramis could be back to joining his friends at the tavern in a few days' time.

.o.0.o.

Rhaego was not fond of early mornings. Which made slipping out of the garrison quietly a challenge in itself. When Aramis went to his den to wake him, the russet dragon lolled one irritated eye up at him and then promptly shut it.

"We have orders," Aramis pressed, but that got no reaction. Huffing, he took off his glove and threw it down so it smacked Rhaego in the face. The dragon's eyes opened slowly to glare at him.

Aramis sighed. "You're right," he said. "A dragon would be too conspicuous for such a sensitive mission. I'd be better off taking a horse." He snatched up his glove and turned away. "Of course, that means the journey to Spain will take longer. I'll be gone for at least a week. I'm sure you'll manage. Perhaps Constance will conscript you to help with Ayelet's training."

He kept his back turned as his dragon made an indignant gurgle. With a smile, Aramis started to walk away and didn't stop until Rhaego growled at him. Then he stopped and schooled his expression as he turned back around. Rhaego grumbled low in his throat as he shuffled out of his den.

"Are you sure?" Aramis checked. "I wouldn't want to disrupt your beauty sleep."

Rhaego glowered at him, but Aramis bit back another secret smile. He knew his dragon would never let him go on such a long mission by himself.

He'd already caught and killed a brace of rabbits from the warren and gave them to Rhaego to eat while he retrieved the dragon's tack and fitted the saddle on Rhaego's back. There were a few people up and about by the time they departed, but no one who asked where they were going so early.

They flew for one hour before Aramis stopped to let Rhaego hunt a larger meal and Aramis partook of his own delayed breakfast. From there, they flew for stretches of two and a half hours with a break in between, and arrived at the village of Sanveterre by mid-afternoon. They landed just outside of the town and Aramis spent a few moments lingering by Rhaego's side to assure any passing villagers that the dragon was no threat to them. They received a few nervous stares but no one went screaming.

Aramis patted Rhaego's flank. "Leave the chickens alone," he said and headed into town.

Rhaego grumbled indignantly behind him.

Aramis strode down the dirt road, scanning the buildings for the local inn/tavern, which would be where he would spend his time if he was stationed at some remote outpost with nothing to do but wait for news. He spotted a sign for Les Chats and headed inside, removing his hat as he entered the dimly lit taproom. Aramis swept his gaze around, surveying the few patrons eating or drinking at this time of day. A few were in pairs, but a fair number were also by themselves. Aramis headed for the counter.

"What can I get you?" the proprietor asked.

He placed a coin on the counter. "Wine."

The barkeep got out a cup and a bottle to pour the drink.

"I'm looking for Señor Tabares," Aramis added.

The man glanced up briefly before sliding the cup toward him, then flicked his gaze toward the back corner where a pair of men were playing cards.

Aramis inclined his head in thanks and picked up his drink as he headed over. The two men didn't look up from their game.

"Señor Tabares?" Aramis queried.

"Who wants to know?" the man on the right replied with a thick accent.

"Estoy aquí por negocios oficiales," Aramis said, switching to Spanish, though this close to the border it was possible several people here spoke it, so he also kept his voice pitched low.

Tabares finally looked up at him, gaze shrewd at Aramis's claim of official business. After a beat, he gave a clipped nod to his companion, who set his cards down and wordlessly excused himself. Aramis slid into the vacated seat.

"Usted juega?" Tabares asked, gathering the cards up and shuffling them.

Aramis canted his head for him to go ahead and deal.

"So," Tabares commented casually. "What is this 'official business'?"

"I have confidential letters for Philip from the King of France," Aramis replied quietly, picking up his hand and giving the cards a cursory look.

"Very well, I will pass them along."

Aramis gave the man a sardonic smile. "My orders are to give them to the King's personal courier."

Tabares regarded him for a long moment before putting two cards down and taking two from the deck. "I'll send for him."

Aramis traded one card. "Be sure to emphasize the sensitive—and timely—nature of the errand."

Tabares revealed his hand: a pair of Queens.

Aramis had three Aces.

They both smirked; neither had bet any money on the hand.

Tabares gathered up the cards again. "I will let you know when he arrives."

Aramis nodded and stood to go back to the counter and request a room. Time to wait.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan hefted the saddle onto Ayelet's back and ducked under her belly to grab the strap from the other side. She wriggled in place, making the belt swing so d'Artagnan had to lunge to catch it.

"Hold still," he grunted, almost pitching face first into the dirt.

Ayelet went rigid—or tried to. She was still vibrating with energy. She seemed eager for saddle training, though obviously it was going to take some getting used to, having the bulky thing strapped to her back, as her resumed fidgeting suggested.

She'd grown quite a bit recently and was now the size of a horse, but with a lithe figure. D'Artagnan would be able to ride her on the ground to get her used to the saddle, but she'd have to put on a bit more muscle before she'd be able to carry his weight plus gear in the air.

He buckled the bottom strap in place, checking to make sure it wasn't too tight, then secured the strap across the front of her chest. She craned her neck back to look at the assembly, cocking her head in apparent contemplation. Then she flexed her wings experimentally.

"See?" d'Artagnan said. "It doesn't hinder your movement."

She danced away, bucking and twisting as though trying to dislodge it. But when it didn't, she let out a toothy grin.

D'Artagnan crossed his arms. "You gonna try to throw me off like that? Gee, thanks."

She immediately ducked her head contritely and shuffled over to stand next to him. She squawked and flicked her nose toward her back.

He grinned. "No flying yet. We'll just take a few laps around the yard, okay?"

She let out a disappointed sounding gargle but continued to shuffle in place impatiently.

D'Artagnan reached up to grab the pommel and pulled himself into the saddle, settling with a beaming smile of his own. It felt good.

Ayelet started off with a sedate walk, making a circuit of the compound. But then she abruptly lurched forward into a lumbering pace.

"Whoa!" d'Artagnan exclaimed, gripping the pommel to hold on. Riding dragonback on the ground was not as smooth as flight.

Ayelet pulled up short and craned her neck back to look at him, eyes glinting with delight. She let out a short trill that he suspected meant something along the lines of, "see, I didn't let you fall."

D'Artagnan shook his head.

"You two look good together," Constance called as she came out of the house and headed toward them. "Our little one is almost all grown up."

D'Artagnan leaned forward to pat Ayelet's neck. Indeed she was. There was a tinge of bittersweetness to it, but she was growing into a magnificent creature. Her pearly scales scintillated with striations of teal, amethyst, and sage. She was the most regal dragon d'Artagnan had ever seen; she'd be a queen among them someday, he imagined.

But in the meantime…

"We're gonna need a lot more practice," he said to her.

She beamed eagerly.

.o.0.o.

There wasn't much for Aramis and Rhaego to do while waiting for the royal courier to arrive. Aramis took Rhaego into the mountains and occupied himself with cleaning and polishing his weapons while his dragon hunted, far away from any livestock. After it was clear to the villagers that the musketeer dragon rider would be staying a while, some of the more curious children ventured out to meet him, and Aramis entertained them with a basic introduction to dragons. He was certain their parents would be properly horrified.

He spent the evenings in the tavern playing cards with Tabares. The first night he lost enough to ensure he'd be out of the inn and sleeping in a field with Rhaego, but then the second night won it back.

Fortunately, the next day Tabares pulled Aramis aside and said the courier had arrived.

Aramis scanned the taproom for an unfamiliar face. "Where is he?"

"Not here," Tabares said quietly and headed outside.

Aramis followed. Tabares led the way around the back of the inn to a stable. Inside, a man was just handing over his horse to the stableboy.

"Buenas días, Tabares," he greeted.

"Rodrigo. Conozca al señor Aramis de los mosqueteros de Francia."

"Buenas días," Aramis said in turn, studying the man carefully.

"¿Dónde están estas cartas que debo entregar a Su Majestad?" Rodrigo asked after the royal correspondence without preamble.

"¿Qué, no quiere una copa en la taberna primero después de su largo viaje?" Aramis replied, glibly inviting him to have a drink after his long journey first.

Rodrigo regarded him just as shrewdly.

Aramis shrugged in concession. "Ah, ¿supongo que tiene prueba de su identidad?" he added, asking for proof of identity.

"¿Mi palabra no es suficiente?" Tabares interjected, seeming affronted that him vouching for this man wasn't enough.

"Hay que estar seguro cuando se trata de asuntos tan delicados," Aramis replied. "Estoy seguro de que usted haría lo mismo."

Tabares let out a soft snort but didn't object to the statement that he would do the same when it came to sensitive matters.

Rodrigo reached under his shirt collar and lifted out a medallion with the King of Spain's seal imprinted on it.

Aramis exhaled the tension he'd been holding in ever since the introductions. One really never could be too careful. He reached into his coat to pull out the letters when a musket shot cracked the air, and Rodrigo flew backwards. Aramis ducked and whirled in search of the shooter, his hand abandoning the letters to go for his pistol.

Tabares seized him by the collar and slammed him against the stable door. "¡Cabrón traidor!"

Aramis didn't have a chance to exclaim he wasn't behind this when another shot jerked Tabares away from him. Aramis whipped his gaze across the street but he couldn't see their assailant. He crouched down and reached for Tabares's throat to feel for a pulse. Cursing under his breath, he moved further into the stable to check Rodrigo. He was also dead.

A whimper had him twisting around, but it was just the stableboy cowering in one of the stalls. Aramis snatched a saddle blanket off a rail and tossed it at him. "Stay hidden!"

Aramis then stood, pistol raised, and inched back toward the open doors. He finally spotted a man with a low-brim hat and a cloth over his nose and mouth reloading a pistol. Aramis took aim and fired, but the masked man must have seen him because he ducked down at the last second and then popped back up to fire off his shot. The ball struck the door by Aramis's shoulder, sending splinters of wood flying.

He whipped out his second pistol and returned fire again, but the man was quick to take cover from the shot. When the masked assailant swept back out again, it was with a musket.

"Rhaego!" Aramis shouted, ducking behind the door. Surely his dragon could hear all this shooting going on.

A thunderous roar answered him…followed by another one. Aramis snapped his gaze to the side and saw Rhaego on a path toward him. But another red dragon had swept down from the sky to cut him off. A second pair of resounding shrieks rent the air as the dragons clashed.

Movement in his peripheral vision brought Aramis back to his own situation as the masked man charged toward him, sword drawn. He barely had time to unsheathe his own blade to meet steel for steel. Unable to holster his spent pistol, he had to use it as a blunt parrying instrument against his opponent.

The man was skilled—and determined. He bore down on Aramis with relentless ferocity. Aramis managed to twist under his arm and retreat outside where he had more room, but his attention was once again distracted by a geyser of flame spewing into the air. It caught one of the buildings and began to spread. Screams resounded through the town.

Aramis jerked back to center and parried several strikes aimed to take him down. He had to retreat, had to draw the fight away from the town before more people were killed. He had to protect the King's letters.

"Rhaego!" he yelled in a warning tone, then used one of Porthos's dirty tricks to catch his opponent's blade and used the opportunity to surge forward and drive a knee up into his groin.

A startled gasp spilled past the mask as he bowed forward. Aramis shoved him away and spun to locate his dragon. Rhaego had also gotten the upper hand and flung the other dragon aside to roll across the road and slam into one of the buildings, shaking its walls. Aramis burst into a sprint, fumbling to sheathe his sword so he could leap straight into the saddle. Rhaego gave a mighty roar and flapped his wings, lifting them into the air.

There was a crack like thunder and Rhaego's flight abruptly buckled as he screeched. Aramis clung to the saddle, eyes whipping around. His dragon had been hit, Aramis knew it, but he couldn't see where.

With another pained cry, Rhaego continued to thwack his wings in a desperate bid to escape with their lives.