No one could understand the confusion of battle until they had experienced it. d'Artagnan had often listened to the stories told by other Musketeers, shared in the comfort of a tavern over wine or in the safety of the garrison. As he'd listened, d'Artagnan felt he was ready to face any form of attacker, having been tested in minor skirmishes in the past while helping his brothers perform Musketeer business. It was not until he found himself reacting to Aramis' cry of "Ambush!" that he felt his heart beat uncontrollably, sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through his veins and making his hands tremble in anticipation.

It had been a quiet three days as the four brothers travelled the country roads, returning from their delivery of a letter to a minor noble in the South. Treville had given them an easy assignment in the wake of their fight with Vadim, and had simply stated that he expected them to return by the end of the week. The timeframe given had been more than generous and the four men made their way slowly, stopping when the mood struck them to eat, sleep and simply relish the camaraderie they shared between them.

d'Artagnan thought it possible that the relaxed journey had lulled him into a false sense of security, a mistake only an amateur would make given the danger that often lay hidden in the French countryside. He spun his horse neatly around to see if he could spot the danger that prompted Aramis' cry and his eyes landed immediately on a group of men running from the nearby woods. Applying his heels to his steed's side, d'Artagnan moved to join his brothers in meeting the attack, pulling his pistol as he did so. Once in range he took his shot, felling one of the men at the front of the group attacking them. Next, he veered to the right, seeing his brothers all moving to engage their own opponents, each having discharged their pistols in the initial attack; as odds went, the group was now fairly evenly matched.

A return volley from their attackers was fired to d'Artagnan's left and he turned his head briefly to confirm that his friends remained unharmed. His glance confirmed that Porthos had dismounted and had just taken out one of their attackers with a brutal strike of his sword to the other man's chest. Aramis' was still mounted and was taking aim with his arquebus after replacing his pistol in its holster, and d'Artagnan had every confidence that the other man would hit his target. Athos had stormed his way into the attacking group, engaged in a vicious sword fight with two men and, while other men might have been concerned at the unfair fight, d'Artagnan felt assured that his mentor would emerge victorious.

d'Artagnan swung his leg over his horse and slid easily to the ground, drawing his sword as soon as he was down. He ran at one of the men who was about to attack Porthos from behind and, lifting his sword, blocked the attack that would have struck Porthos' shoulder. Porthos shot him a quick look of gratitude before refocusing on his opponent and d'Artagnan dispatched the man who had cowardly tried to kill his friend from the back. As his opponent fell, d'Artagnan looked around to gauge their progress, finding his friends working to dispatch the remaining men.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Gascon caught sight of a shadow moving towards the horses and before he knew it, he watched one of the attackers mount Athos' horse and swiftly ride away from the clearing where they had fought. Without thought d'Artagnan whistled for his mount, trading a quick look with Aramis who's attention had been captured by the whistle. Before his horse had even stopped, the Gascon had pulled himself into the saddle and spurred his horse into action. d'Artagnan bent low over his horse's neck as the horse slowly but surely gained on the other man. Hearing the would-be-Musketeer behind him, the other man pulled his horse to a stop and turned in his saddle to await the Musketeer's arrival. A grin broke over d'Artagnan's face as he watched the other man stop and wait for him, and he sat up in the saddle as he slowed his horse to a canter.

d'Artagnan's grin turned to a grimace as he watched the other man pull his pistol and point it at him. Instinctively, the Gascon bent low and kicked his heels, once again speeding toward his attacker. His horse was well-trained but was still not fond of the idea of ramming another horse; d'Artagnan expected this and waited for the moment when his mount would turn away and then leapt from his horse's back to tackle the other man. His timing was good and his attacker landed underneath as the two men fell and then rolled to a stop several feet away from the two horses. Breathlessly, d'Artagnan raised his arm in preparation for a punch, but one look at the man's eyes had him lowering it again; sightless eyes stared back at him and from the angle of his head, it was clear that the man had fallen badly and broken his neck.

Sighing d'Artagnan pulled himself off the other man's body and stood, only to be stopped by a sharp pain in his side. The shot - in the swiftness of the chase, he hadn't thought about where the ball from the man's pistol had gone and hadn't felt anything through the haze of danger-induced adrenaline. Now that the danger had passed his side was starting to protest vigorously. d'Artagnan pulled his shirt up to examine his right side where he found a neat hole at his waist slowly leaking blood. A painful twist of his upper body showed a matching hole near his back, which at least meant that the ball wasn't still in his body. Moving to his saddlebag, D'Artagnan pulled out a bandage and a short length of gauze, binding the wounds quickly in an effort to keep them clean and stop the bleeding. He knew that they likely needed some of Aramis' needlework, but his ministrations would be sufficient until he returned to the clearing so Aramis could have a proper look.

After wiping his hands on his breeches he donned his doublet to add the leather's extra support to his side and took Athos' horse's reins in one hand before mounting his own horse. The movement sent another spike of pain coursing through his side, but he steadfastly clamped his mouth shut against the moan that threatened to escape. Keeping his horse to a walk, he made his way back to the clearing, looking forward to sharing in the post-ambush success they had achieved; however it was not to be. When he arrived, the Gascon saw Porthos sitting against a tree, bent forward with his head cradled in both hands. Closer inspection revealed a white bandage wrapped around his head, spotted with red. Across the clearning,Aramis crouched beside a motionless Athos and d'Artagnan's heart leapt with fear at the lack of movement from his mentor. Dismounting, the young man tied both horses to a low-hanging branch and moved towards Aramis.

Aramis looked up at his arrival and made eye contact with him, shaking his head. "See to Porthos. Someone brained him with a pistol and he needs to stay awake. I need to bandage Athos' side and then we'll make our way to nearest inn so I can properly stitch this wound." D'Artagnan nodded his understanding and changed direction while Aramis turned his attention back to Athos.

D'Artagnan crouched carefully in front of Porthos, laying his hand on the man's shoulder. "Porthos," D'Artagnan whispered, "how's your head?"

He was rewarded by a half-lidded look that clearly told him what an idiot he was for asking such a stupid question. Now that he had the man's attention, d'Artagnan moved his other hand to look under the hastily applied bandage, grimacing at the bloodied gash he found underneath.

"Porthos, you need to stay awake" d'Artagnan continued as he removed the dirty gauze. He was rewarded by a slight nod that was followed by a groan as the motion sent daggers through Porthos' fragile skull.

"I need to get a clean bandage and them I'm going to clean and re-wrap this, alright?" d'Artagnan waited for a quietly breathed moan that sounded like agreement before squeezing the other man's shoulder and moving away to retrieve what he needed from Aramis' bag.

As he squatted beside Aramis, his gaze swept over Athos' pale and sweaty face. "Will he be alright?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis nodded without looking up. "The ball struck the fleshy part at the top of his shoulder. Any lower and the bullet might have embedded itself in the bone. As it is, he lost a fair bit of blood, but infection setting in will be the biggest risk. I just need to finish bandaging it and then we can see if he's able to ride. Porthos?"

"He's in a lot of pain and his head's still bleeding." d'Artagnan held up the gauze he'd taken from Aramis' bag. "I'm going to clean and re-wrap it and you'll need to stitch it, but I think he'll be fine."

Aramis nodded again and d'Artagnan rose, wincing as the wounds in his side pulled. d'Artagnan roused Porthos once again from his wound-induced stupor, secured a commitment from the other man that he would do his best to stay awake, and then walked to his horse to get a water skin. While he was there, the Gascon took a moment to slide his hand underneath his doublet and shirt, confirming that the bandage was still doing its job and not wanting to alarm Aramis nor take his attention away from his two friends. He was still up and moving, he reasoned, and Aramis would be able to see to his wound at the inn after Porthos and Athos had been seen to. Returning to Porthos' side, d'Artagnan carefully and efficiently cleaned the laceration on the older man's temple before wrapping it again in clean, white linen.

"Alright, I think we're ready." Aramis said as he rose from Athos' side, securing his bag to his saddle. Catching d'Artagnan's eye, he asked, "Can you manage Porthos while I get Athos into his seat?"

d'Artagnan nodded earning his a smile from Aramis. "Good man. It'll be slow going and they're both going to very unhappy but we need to find someplace where their wounds can be properly tended." With that, the man took the lead to Athos' horse, bringing it closer to where he lay.

d'Artagnan did the same with Porthos' horse and, with much cajoling and more than a little effort on d'Artagnan's part, Porthos was finally sitting slumped in his saddle. d'Artagnan drew up the other horse's reins not trusting Porthos to manage them himself, and they set off at a careful walk to find shelter for the night.