Against All Odds (BBC The Musketeers)

Chapter 2: The Aftermath

Shots ring out through the forest and Aramis freezes at the sound. With his arm still outstretched and musket in hand, he sees Porthos' limp body fall into the snow, still and unmoving. Everything blurs around him. Nothing matters to him anymore as he stares in abject horror at his fallen brother. Anger flares up in his mind and he directs his glare at the man currently shouting in pain on the ground, hands holding the wound on his calf from Porthos' dagger.

He takes notice of the dissident's dead comrades, coming to the conclusion that Athos and D'Artagnan must have shot them and immediately sprints to the leader while scooping up his sword along the way. Athos and D'Artagnan urgently race to Porthos' side, moving him away from the enemy.

The bandit grips his leg in pain with one hand while desperately attempting to reach his dropped musket with the other. Aramis steps on the outstretched hand then kicks the pistol away with the other. He punts him in the face, receiving a large groan from the man as he lands flat on his back.

"Stop, please! Don't kill me!" the man exclaims, raising a shaky hand up; the tough demeanor from earlier having diminished and replaced with weakness.

The marksman's expression is dark, a raging fire of ire shines in his eyes from the deep hatred for this bandit. He stalks around the man like a predator surrounding its prey, approaching him slowly before pulling the dagger out of the bandit's calf in one swift move, bringing about a howling scream that pierces the silent forest. The man pants heavily and cranes his head up to Aramis, his eyes silently beseeching for clemency.

"Please! Have mercy!" the dissident pleads, eyes on the verge of tears. "I didn't mean any harm," he laughs nervously, attempting to redeem his actions in hopes of being granted redemption.

"Mercy? You ask me for mercy?" Aramis scoffs with raised brows as he presses his boot onto the man's injury which elicits another loud cry of pain. He directs his sword to the edge of the man's neck.

"I've killed many men in my time as a Musketeer. So many that I've lost count, but it's all to protect France. I don't kill unless it's necessary," Aramis guides his rapier to the man's chest, mere inches away from his heart.

"But you? Oh you're a special one, mon cher. You have crossed a threshold that you'll wish you didn't," he moves his boot from the injured leg onto the man's chest and leans down enough that his breath blows past the bandit's face with the previously used bloody dagger in hand and pressed to his cheek.

"No one hurts my brothers and receives impunity," he snarls deeply, pushing the main gauche until it draws blood and a whimper comes from the man's throat.

"No. One," he emphasizes the two words with a deadly, loud growl. He gets up from his crouched position and towers over his enemy. The man has his bloody hands up in surrender, copiously pleading Aramis to spare his life.

"Begging to me won't help," the marksman states as he lifts his sword - point down - above the man's chest. "You may beg for mercy from God, but you'll certainly not get any from me."

A half-choked cry is heard before the rapier pierces through the man's heart. His body goes lax and a bloom of red seeps and spreads into the snow. Aramis stares stone-faced at the bandit's lifeless body, whose eyes are fixed wide with fear and mouth agape. He has nothing more to say to the dead man. No prayers. Nothing.

He extracts his sword from the man's chest and spins on his heels, quickly running towards his brothers.

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Athos has half of Porthos' body resting in his lap with arms wrapped around him tightly, doing his best to keep the shivering musketeer warm along with two of their blue cloaks draped over his brother's body. Aramis kneels down to check on Porthos' condition. His complexion has turned pale and his lips are colouring into a dim shade of blue. "Is... is he. . ." Aramis stutters, hoping his fears aren't true.