Against All Odds (BBC The Musketeers)

Chapter 1: The Countdown

"Never let the odds keep you from doing what you know in your heart you were meant to do." - H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

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Aramis freezes.

Everything that revolves around him moves in slow motion as if time itself is coming to a halt. A grey vignette emerges from the corners of his vision, pushing the focus on his brother in the distance. The clang of steel on steel and the sounds of muskets going off melt away from the world, leaving nothing but the accentuating cry of agony from Porthos.

His face construes into one of horror as he watches his brother topple limply to the ground, unmoving. Being fueled purely by desperation, he charges; his sword moves on its own accord as if it had a mind of its own, slashing and parrying through the group of dissidents who get in his way, desperate to reach the large musketeer.

His heart lodges into his throat at the sight before him after clearing out his path of enemies. Porthos is on his knees, held up by a big man behind him with a musket pointed to his head. The man is tall, dressed in black with a bandana covering his lower face along with a tilted cavalier hat that masks his eyes. Accompanying him are two of his comrades, stationed out front on either sides of him like bodyguards -  both with pistols aimed at Aramis and his brothers who have now joined him by his side.

"Drop your weapons or I will shoot this musketeer where he kneels," the leader commands.

Aramis furrows his brows in anger and worry, causing wrinkles to appear on his forehead. His shoulders tense as his fingers clench tightly around the rapier's handle, the colour of his knuckles matching that of the snow. The pounding in his heart is rapid and fierce, the vibration reverberating through his whole body.

Aramis' frustration on the ordeal immediately clouds his mind, but it isn't until he registers the sight of Porthos' state that he almost loses all control of his emotions.

Porthos is leaning heavily, favouring his right side due to the musket ball embedded in his left thigh where crimson blood slowly soaks through his breeches. The only support preventing him from falling over is the man's firm grip in his hair. A trail of blood trickles down the side of his face from a small gash above his right brow, painting the snow with drops of red. He gasps to get air into his lungs, evident from the large frozen puffs that escape his lips. A field of anguish is plastered across his face, the wound taking its toll with waves of constant pain shooting through his body. Despite the distress, he manages to keep a steady gaze upon them through glassy eyes.

White hot rage disperses through Aramis like venom. His eyes become a crosshair, targeting the enemy and ready to eliminate the man in a flash. His body aches with desperation to take action, the building mixture of frustration and anger itching to burst out all at once. He can't just stand by and watch the dissident treat Porthos like a puppet, using him to manipulate them to conform to his every demand.

As he's ready to throw himself at the man, a gentle whisper from Athos saying 'don't' stops him from continuing forth. He glances angrily at the lieutenant who's giving him a warning glare, clearly knowing what he intends on doing.

He can't help it. His emotions are already out of control and they're commanding his body to do something. Anything.

Athos scowls quietly, urging him to hold back for now. Aramis' course of action is usually contrary to what Athos tells him to do, but a constant nagging thought that has managed to break its way through his emotions told the marksman to obey his lieutenant for once. The strength it takes for him to restrain himself is beyond difficult as he forces his eager legs to plant themselves firmly on the ground so they don't burst into a full sprint at the man. He closes his eyes briefly and sucks in a deep breath, barely managing to suppress the fury that threatens to escape.