So ... I guess I'm sort of back! I actually got a lot of inspiration to start writing again from watching a Russian series about the Musketeers that I'd watched when I was younger. I will try my best write as much as possible, especially since I have so much time on my hands with this lock down.

This "story" of sorts is just gonna be the different story plots that pop into my head. I am hoping that this will help with my writer's block will finally be cured if I keep trying to post.

Please make sure to leave a favorite, follow, as well as review if you have the chance. I hope you enjoy my stories. Prompts are definitely welcomed.

-M


Chapter One: Ambush

They day had started off normal, happy even.

King Louis had ordered a group of Musketeers to accompany him on a hunt, four of the soldiers being none other than Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan, as well as Captain Treville. While he was on a beautiful white stallion, his loyal protectors were walking around him, relaxed but still on guard for possible danger. The sun was shining, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the air was crisp.

It was a beautiful morning, and everything seemed to be going right.

But to Aramis, something seemed wrong, and he couldn't shake this feeling that something was about to happen. He constantly found himself looking back at His Highness, checking to see if he was alright, and then to the right or left almost frantically, unable to help himself. After a while, even his friends noticed.

"Is everything alright, Aramis," Athos asked, and placed a gentle hand on Aramis' shoulder. He knew just as well as the others that the marksman had an uncanny ability to sense a bad situation, so he wasn't about to completely diminish the possibility of an attack.

"I … don't know," Aramis replied hesitantly, body tensing when he heard leaves rustling.

Suddenly, gunshots sounded from their right, and the next thing Aramis knew the King's horse was on the ground with the monarch under it, almost the entire regiment on was the ground, too, either wounded or dead, and there was a bullet lodged in his shoulder. He barely even had a chance to register the pain, because that was when he realized that only he, his brothers, and their Captain - who was also shot, just in the leg - were the only soldiers left to protect Louis. What was worse were the dozens of angry, armed men running towards them, ready to fight. Letting out a muttered curse, Aramis took out his prized muskets and managed to kill two of their attackers, knowing that it wasn't enough.

"Get out of here, Your Majesty!" Athos commanded.

"I can't! I'm stuck!" Louis replied, struggling to pull himself up from under the animal pinning him.

D'Artagnan was quick to run to the King, followed by Treville. While they got him free, Aramis, Athos and Porthos were giving it their all, trying hard to keep them as far away from Louis as possible.

"Protect the King!" Treville yelled. "Get in a circle!"

The Musketeers immediately complied, all of them breathing heavily and wondering how the Hell they were going to get out of this. Aramis briefly looked at his companions, noticing the heavy gash across Porthos' cheek, the bruise under Athos' eye, and the blood gushing out of their Captain's wound. This was getting worse and worse by the second.

Still, Aramis gave it his all, choosing not to pay attention to his hurts and just focus on protecting his brothers and the King. He felt nothing but relief when every one of those men were taken care of, his exhausted body threatening to give out on him. However, his eyes widened when another onslaught of attackers started charging at them, shocking them all.

"Shit," Porthos murmured.

"Protect the King at all costs," Treville said tiredly.

Aramis could tell that he was slowly getting weaker, and it worried him deeply. He sent up a quick prayer to the heavens, asking them to spare them all. If not him, then at least everybody else.

Thankfully, God seemed to have heard him, because a few minutes later, a whole regiment of Musketeers arrived at the scene, shooting whoever they came across. As Aramis watched, he couldn't help but hang his head, unable to watch the massacre that was happening right in front of him. Even though he knew that these people deserved their rather gruesome fates, it hurt him to see all the blood.

Finally the attackers were all dead, and Louis was being led to a new horse, while Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan tended to Treville. After they were rescued, he'd promptly passed out, the blood loss taking a toll on him.

Instead of joining his friends in helping their superior officer, Aramis just stood in front of them, weapons in both hands, unable to move. His body was trembling in fear and pain, and he had this empty expression on his face, despite the many emotions coursing through him, almost suffocating him.

"What do you want us to do with the captives, Your Highness?" he vaguely heard someone ask.

"Hang them," was Louis' simple answer before he rode away, never even thanking his saviors.

The reply made Aramis' blood boil. He slowly closed his eyes and let his rapier and dagger fall onto the ground, almost as if he couldn't stand to touch them anymore. Running a hand through his unruly locks, he turned around to look at the flat plain in front of him, trying to calm himself down.

"'Mis?" a familiar voice called.

It was Porthos. After making sure that Athos and d'Artagnan had Treville, he'd stood up and made his way over to Aramis, having seen how terrified he looked before he turned away from them. He immediately noticed the blood coating his brother's shoulder. "Oh, God, 'Mis, you're injured."

"It's just a scratch, Porthos," Aramis replied, devoid of any emotion. Right as he said it, he began to feel weaker, and suddenly found himself falling to the ground. He was incredibly grateful that Porthos was there to catch him.

"Clearly not … Dammit, 'Mis, you're shot!" Porthos sighed and took out a handkerchief to try and stop the bleeding. He hadn't thought that the origin of all the blood had been from something as serious as a musket wound. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"There was so much death today," Aramis murmured softly, clearly in his own little world.

"What's going on, Aramis?" Porthos asked hesitantly, after a short pause where he tried to understand what Aramis had said. He knew that something was definitely wrong, but he was having trouble figuring out what.

"One minute everything was fine. The next … we're the last ones standing. And those men … they just kept on coming. They could've gotten to the King … There was so much death, Porthos. So much death…"

Aramis' speech was monotonous, lifeless, yet somehow it was full of so much terror, pain, and remembrance. That was when Porthos realized why his friend was so shocked. "Aramis, this isn't Savoy," he tried to assure him, sighing when he flinched at that wretched name. "We're okay, 'Mis, I promise."

"But so many of them died," Aramis whispered brokenly. "I couldn't protect them. I failed."

"You didn't fail, mon ami," Porthos said softly, gently stroking Aramis' hair in an attempt to calm him. "Let's just get you back to the garrison where we can patch you up. Alright?"

Looking up at his friend, Aramis couldn't stop the single tear that fell down his cheek and onto the soil beneath him. "Alright."

The End