The Spanish Lady (A Three Musketeers Fanfiction)

Consequences

A/N: Just as a quick note, this chapter is directly inspired by the 2011 film with the impossible airships. I was amused by them and have included them.

Winter-1626

The battlefield was muddy and cold. Overhead, Buckingham's airships rained cannonballs down on the French soldiers. Ignoring the explosions going on around him, Porthos ran for the closest trench. A cannonball landed in the mud not more than a yard away, catching the large man's attention. Reacting immediately, Porthos flung himself into the trench.

The ball exploded, sending mud and dirt into the trench. Shaking his head, Porthos got to his feet and crouched by the wall of the trench. “Cutting it a little close, weren't you, Porthos?” Aramis queried, glancing over. He, like everyone else, was covered with mud. Only his gold cross distinguished him from the others. “How is it out on the field?”

“What do you think? We're getting slaughtered out there!” Porthos responded.

“We've got to figure out a way to take those ships down,” Aramis said, glancing up at the cloudy sky. “None of our artillery can hit the damn things!”

Porthos started to grin, and Aramis eyed him suspiciously. “I wasn't just out there getting shot at,” the large man said, with a hint of pride in his voice. “Buckingham's setting up camp nearby. I guess he doesn't want to waste time in having his ships go back and forth for supplies. Near as I can tell, the ships set down once a day.”

Amazed, Aramis stared at him. “How'd you find that out?”

“I went looking,” Porthos said smugly. He clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder, nearly sending Aramis into the mud. “I'm going to find Treville and let him know.”

“Athos went that way too,” Aramis told him. “You know D'Artagnan was assigned near Treville. Athos wanted to make sure the boy was all right.”

Chuckling, Porthos moved to straighten up. His eyes widened as he took in four airships headed directly towards where he knew his two friends, and his captain to be. “Aramis!” he said.

Turning, Aramis was in time to see the four ships bombard the ground with fire and cannonballs. The two friends exchanged quick looks and then they both pulled themselves from the mud. They wove their way through other soldiers, guards, and musketeers. Within moments, they had to fight against the soldiers fleeing the flames. Explosions and screams of pain filled the air around them.

Bringing his arm up to block the smoke, Porthos tripped on a musket that Aramis had so gracefully leapt over. Unable to get his balance, Porthos landed on his face. He picked himself up and turned to snap at the owner of the musket. However, when he saw that the pain lined and exhausted face looking back at him was D'Artagnan's, all annoyance fled.

“D'Artagnan!” Porthos exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. His voice halted Aramis, who'd continued on. Kneeling by his young friend, Porthos tried to find the injury on the boy. “D'Artagnan, are you all right? Where have you been injured?”

“I'm fine,” D'Artagnan answered, even though he grimaced in pain as he moved.

“I never took you for a liar, boy,” Porthos told him. “Now, tell me where you're hurt.”

After a moment, D'Artagnan gestured to his right side. “Its not serious,” he insisted as Aramis moved to take a better look.

“Where's Athos?” Aramis asked, trying in vain to look at D'Artagnan's wound through the mud.

“He's the one who got me here,” D'Artagnan answered. He looked between them with wide eyes. “But he went back.”

Aramis and Porthos looked at each other, and Porthos rose to his feet. “I'll go find him,” he said. “You stay with D'Artagnan.”