Author's note: This story is set in season 1, a couple of months after episode 4 (Good Soldier). The plot line focuses on Aramis and so does a good portion of the H/C. That being said, none of them make it through this completely unscathed :)

First and foremost this is supposed to be a tale about the friendship of four men who would do absolutely anything for each other.

This story is complete with a total of eight chapters plus epilogue. One chapter will be posted every two days.

I truly hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think. SanB

Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize here.

His Brother's Keeper

Chapter 1

Aramis POV

The afternoon sun still smiled at them warmly right before sliding behind a cluster of trees in the distance, casting the first shadows of an early evening. Aramis estimated a few hours of daylight yet remained, and if they were able to maintain their horse's current speed, they would surely arrive back at the garrison before nightfall.

The route they had chosen led them through the open country, the River Seine on their far left side being a steady and reliable guide to Paris while a plateau of green grassy hills stretched before them.

Roads this far outside of the city could always be compared to an obstacle course, Aramis mused, as he avoided yet another pothole.

The path was lined by the occasional outcropping of trees and brush; the precursors to the dense forest they would enter a few leagues down the road, thus far still obscured by the rolling landscape.

Around midday, they had left the road to eat a quick meal and allow themselves and the horses a brief rest on the shores of the Seine, before resuming their journey.

When they had pushed on, nearing the forest ahead, Aramis had had time to reflect upon the mission they had just completed successfully.

The prior day Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan and himself had been sent to Rouen, the capital city of Normandy, to deliver an important missive from the King to the Comte de Mirabeau.

This was not a mission that would normally require four seasoned soldiers, but there had been reports of bandits terrorizing the outlying villages of Rouen and the King had been anxious that the sensitive details of his message might fall into the wrong hands.

Captain Treville had assured his majesty that his missive would arrive safely at its designated destination and had entrusted the four of them to complete the task.

They had arrived in Rouen the evening before without incident. After delivering the missive they had been entrusted with, the King's Musketeers had even been invited to stay the night at the Comte's chateau.

As soon as dawn had broken over the horizon the next day, they had started their long journey back to Paris as ordered.

Their horses now crested the last of the grassy hills and Aramis called his thoughts back to the present as they followed the gentle downward slope on the other side of the hill, entering the forest before them.

Shifting in his saddle, Aramis attempted to ease his discomfort. It had been another long day on horseback with little rest to ensure their timely arrival at the garrison. He longed to be back in his city to unwind in a tavern and enjoy a good bottle of wine in the company of good friends.

As he turned his head to the left to settle his eyes on the imposing figure of Porthos, he could tell the bigger man was most likely thinking along the same lines. He too had started shifting in his saddle, his brow furrowed in annoyance.

A voice from up front drew his attention away from Porthos and his musings. "I sincerely hope we get to Paris before long. I am starving. I think I could eat an entire pig. Or a cow." D'Artagnan was absently rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he voiced his complaint. "Maybe both."

Turning his head towards the young Gascon, Athos raised a questioning eyebrow. "I must have been asleep and dreaming then when I saw you eat an entire family of fish not four hours ago."

D'Artagnan smiled sheepishly. "That family did not have enough relatives to satisfy." Turning half way in his saddle, he was evidently hoping for Porthos and Aramis to be more sympathetic to his plight. "You can't honestly tell me that no one else is hungry?"

Aramis turned to look at Porthos as he heard the man chuckle; the deep and familiar sound always making him feel content. "I'll bet anything Aramis is still plenty satisfied from last night's supper. That maid was so smitten by 'im, she refilled his plate, what, four times? Whole family could 'ave lived on that amount of food for an entire week."

Aramis's grin brightened his face at the memory of the pretty housemaid and the plentiful supper they had enjoyed the night before. And even though he hadn't indulged in the 'dessert' the maid had secretly offered only to him, he cheerfully responded to Porthos's teasing.

"Is that jealousy I detect in your voice dear friend? I'm afraid I can't help it." Dramatically putting a hand over his heart, he concluded his overly confident speech. "They seem to be drawn to me like a moth to a flame."

The answering voice from the front was dripping with its habitual sarcasm. "If you are not careful, you will set yourself and your moth on fire one of these days."

Porthos and d'Artagnan still quietly chuckled at Athos's retort when suddenly something changed. It was only a feeling at first. The air around them seemed to have gone too still, the trees and brush lining the forest path suddenly too dark and oppressive.

Aramis marginally stiffened in his saddle as a slight shiver rolled down his spine. Something told him they were being watched, and he had long since learned to trust his instincts.

He started to inconspicuously scan the edges of the path and the thick brush and trees beyond.

"What is it?" Porthos must have noticed his change in demeanor and rigid posture, considering that his voice was no more than a low rumble.

"I am not sure." Aramis's increasing sense of urgency belied his whispered reply as his eyes now frantically searched the brush. He had barely finished his sentence when he realized that something was terribly wrong.

A glint caught his eye.

Aramis recognized with a start that what he was seeing was the remaining light of the evening sun reflecting off the barrel of a musket. A musket and whoever was behind it, hidden mostly by a cluster of thick bushes. A musket that was only twenty yards away, aiming directly at him.

"Ambush!"

As he shouted the warning, Aramis pulled on the reins of his mare, attempting to change direction and move his head out of the line of fire.

When the report of the weapon echoed through the forest, sharp pain exploded behind his eyes as the ball whizzed past his ear, furrowing a deep graze into his left temple on its way.

As his gloved hand went up to press at the wound instinctively, he dimly registered the feeling of warm blood running down the side of his face.

For a moment, the world seemed to be bathed in a white light, hazy and blurred around the edges. No sound was audible to him as his confused mind was trying to comprehend that six men, all clad in black leather, had just broken cover on the right side of the path to charge at them with full speed.

Turning his muddled head, which was still covered in the fog that would deny him all sound, he instinctively sought out his friends.

Athos and d'Artagnan had turned their horses around and had readily positioned themselves between him and the attackers to provide him some cover.

Aramis realized he needed to move, needed to act before it was too late. He was acutely aware of the fact that he couldn't afford even another second to sit atop his horse, motionless.

He understood all of that and yet… the temporary loss of his hearing seemed to suspend him in time, his limbs stubbornly refusing to obey his commands.

His vision started to waver alarmingly for a second as he watched d'Artagnan pull his arquebus from his saddlebag, aiming and firing the weapon with skillful precision. The ball found the intended target as it buried itself into the chest of the man leading the crowd, instantly felling him in a spray of blood.

The young Gascon quickly slid off his horse. Pulling his rapier out of its sheath on his waist, d'Artagnan almost visibly buzzed with energy and anticipation for battle.

Athos was still in his saddle; arquebus leveled at the next assailant. Before he fired however, he turned his head and for only a second, his piercing blue eyes locked onto Aramis's.

He recognized concern on his friend's face, but also saw the same fierce determination that had more than once before seen them through uncertain situations such as this.

Athos's mouth was moving now, shouting at him, obviously trying to shake him from his daze. If only he could hear a single. damn. thing.

It was then that he felt a heavy hand on his left shoulder, the familiar weight drawing his head back around.

Porthos.

His friend had moved his horse to stand next to him and had clearly been trying to draw his attention.

Leaning over, Porthos moved his hand from Aramis's shoulder to the back of his neck and squeezed tightly. He felt his eyes close in reaction to the touch and just like that, sound returned to him in a deafening roar.

He could hear the wind rustling through the trees, the sounds of battle behind them, steel clashing and most importantly… Porthos's voice.

"…Answer me, Aramis. Are you with me?"

Slowly opening his eyes again, Aramis found that the solid feeling of Porthos's hand on his neck, as well as his unwavering gaze, were able to ground him like nothing else ever could.

He locked eyes with his friend and nodded once in confirmation, pushing down the nausea that threatened to rise at the movement.

Another shot was fired. The obvious concern never left Porthos's face, but he dropped his hand and in unison they turned to see Athos discard his arquebus, jump off his horse and meet his next attacker steel on steel.

"Are you ready for this?" Porthos asked, eying Aramis apprehensively.

"Ready as ever." His voice didn't sound quite right, even to his own ears.

Watching as Porthos dismounted his horse, Aramis steeled himself for what was to come. Sliding off his mare as quickly as he was able, he readied himself to join Athos and d'Artagnan in battle.

When his feet touched the ground, he tried hard to suppress the lingering feeling of dizziness and clear his still hazy head. He knew if he didn't succeed he would be dead before he could ever fully recover his senses.

Porthos drew his shianova but then halted in his movements as something seemingly caught his eye on the other side of the path. Aramis detected the alarm on his friend's face just before Porthos's shout echoed through the air.

"Bleedin' Christ. Aramis, watch out!"

Porthos's voice rose over the noise of battle, and when he followed his friend's wild gaze, Aramis realized with a start that seven more men were about to attack.

On this side of the path, their assailants had used the initial commotion to crawl stealthily ever closer through the thick brush and were now almost upon them.

Realizing that their position was discovered, their attackers broke cover and charged.

Quickly freeing his pistol from his belt, he aimed swiftly and pulled the trigger from behind his horse, hitting one of the men in the chest, dead center.

He watched detachedly as his opponent collapsed none too graceful, a rapidly growing bloodstain saturating the man's dark leathers.

The pistol fire must have spooked his mare because the animal ran off down the path.

Aramis didn't stop moving. In one fluid motion, he discarded his pistol and pulled his rapier, keeping a tight grip on the hilt.

Sparing a quick glance at Porthos, he watched as his friend delivered a brutal kick to his opponent's gut. It eased his mind to know that even on his worst day Porthos would be a force to be reckoned with.

Stepping forward, Aramis prepared to meet his next adversary.

When the sword rushed at him in a downward angle and a blur of steel, he quickly deflected the blade with his own. Pushing forward with deadly intent, he first disarmed the man swiftly with an elegant twist of his arm and then drove his rapier forward to pierce his heart without hesitation.

While pulling his weapon free of the man's chest however, his vision started to swim in and out of focus. He realized that he needed to finish this quickly as his head pounded in a fierce rhythm with his hammering breath, leaving no doubt that he would not be able to keep this up for long.

When a third attacker hurried to take the dead man's place, Aramis hastily parried the advancing blow with his rapier; staggering with the force of the impact. Using his free hand, he pulled his main gauche from the sheath behind his back and with a vicious upward thrust plunged the short blade into the man's throat.

The assailant was on his feet for only a moment longer, a bloody gurgle emanating from around the blade lodged in his throat. When his eyes finally rolled back into his head, he collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

Panting hard and desperately trying to keep his vision focused, Aramis made a move to pull his main gauche free when he was viciously kicked in the back of the knee.

His next opponent obviously didn't see the need to wait his turn and had circled around to attack him from behind. When his knee buckled in reaction to the unexpected blow, he did not get the chance to recover his wits before he caught another kick to his ribs, delivered with brute strength.

The sheer force and momentum of the blow had him crashing into the ground, face down.

Through the haze that had made itself at home inside his head, he only dimly registered the crack that signaled one of his ribs giving way. Drawing his right arm tightly around his midsection, he instinctively sought to protect himself against the agonizing sensation.

The effort it cost him just to cling to consciousness was immense as darkness seemed determined to encroach on his vision.

In the dark recesses of his mind though, Aramis realized exactly how dire his situation was, and he knew if he didn't move now, he would be sent to meet his maker. He managed to get his left arm underneath him and pushed himself over onto his back, staring directly at the imposing figure standing above.

Desperately trying to ignore the excruciating feeling in his side, he pushed up to his elbows in an effort to regain his feet.

Before he could level himself even halfway off the ground, however, he caught another brutal kick to his midsection and collapsed backward with such force that his already battered head smashed into the ground beneath him.

All he was able to register now was pain and darkness and it took all of his remaining strength not to succumb to its beckoning call.

After a moment, Aramis managed to open his eyes slowly.

Before him stood a man with broad shoulders and an unruly shock of black hair. His solidly built body was clad in leather breeches and a black leather doublet. The brim of his hat cast a shadow on his face in the evening light, somewhat obscuring his features.

The man's piercing eyes were quite visible however and even though it didn't make any sense in Aramis's foggy mind, he could have sworn that the deathly glare directed at him was filled with pure hatred and disdain.

Aramis watched him free his pistol from his weapons belt with an angry snarl on his face and realized that this man would show no mercy.

Turning his throbbing head, Aramis's eyes frantically searched for anything he might be able to use to defend himself with. He noticed the main gauche he had dropped earlier and reached for it, stretching as far as his screaming ribs would allow.

His opponent raised the pistol, taking aim.

As Aramis's finger tips just barely made contact with the blade, it briefly crossed his mind that the idea of him deflecting a ball with his main gauche was quite laughable indeed. He had brought a dagger to a pistol fight; a dagger he couldn't even fully grasp.

The man's dark eyes narrowed menacingly as his finger tightened on the trigger and Aramis suddenly felt a measure of deep regret at the reality that he would not make it out of this alive.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

TBC