D'Artagnan was terrified. He'd been terrified ever since he'd first woken up chained to a wall in a damp, dark cell, head bleeding and heart pounding.
He knew why they were doing it. He'd heard them talking outside, something about revenge. Athos, Porthos and Aramis' names had been thrown about too, but he never quite heard the full conversation.
It was on the second day, when they came into his cell, that the pieces fell into place a little more. He couldn't for the life of him place names to the faces. But he did know their faces. They were Red Guards.
It wasn't exactly a secret that there was no love lost between the Red Guards and the Musketeers, and unfortunately on the rare occasion, reckless duels between the two had resulted in death.
So if d'Artagnan had to guess, that was why they were doing this.
He had tried to be brave, he was a solider after all, and he knew that his friends would find him. But four days later, with no sign that help was coming, he was finding it harder to stop his fear from completely taking over.
He couldn't remember how exactly he'd gotten to the woods they were now in the middle of, but he could recall something about raised voices and the butt of a pistol coming towards him.
Now, as he found himself lying on his side, his wrists bound tightly behind his back and his feet roped together, he gave in and allowed himself to feel terrified.
The two Red Guards were a few metres away with their backs to him and d'Artagnan hazily thought about escaping until he was momentarily distracted by what the men were doing.
Shovelling mud into two heaps, they were hastily digging a hole, not too wide but long and deep enough to fit a person, and in an instant d'Artagnan knew what the hole was for.
Noticing he had awoken, one of the men grabbed him by his arms and hoisted him into as much of a sitting position as possible, his bound limbs uncooperative.
"No…please…" D'Artagnan's voice cracked from disuse and lack of water. A sob caught in his throat, tears escaping and rolling down his cheeks.
"Would you look at that; guess he really was the baby of the group." The man holding him grinned.
D'Artagnan could feel his breathing speed up in panic, the quick gasps doing nothing to help his raw throat. He tried to wriggle out of the man's grasp but the beatings he had received during his time captive and the minuscule amount of food he had been gifted had left him weak.
He was terrified. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die was the one coherent thought going through his head.
"Maybe we shouldn't be doing this." The second man spoke up, giving d'Artagnan a tiny sliver of hope, "they said we could rough 'im up a bit. But this-".
"His friends took our brother from us! They need to know what that feels like!" The first man silenced the second, sealing d'Artagnan's fate.
"But if we get caught-" the second man tried again.
"We won't, brother. Or don't you trust me?" The first man asked, his tone strangely gentle.
D'Artagnan hadn't seen the second man nod, his eyes not leaving the hole in front of him. The grave that had been dug for him.
"Good. Now it's gonna be light soon so we need to hurry." The first man reaffirmed his grip on d'Artagnan and dragged him closer to the edge.
"No, no, stop, please…" d'Artagnan cried out, pulling away as desperately as he could but to no avail. The man shoved him into the dirt grave and with no free hands to break his fall, his head violently hit the ground leaving him momentarily dazed.
Dirt landing heavily on his chest abruptly brought him back. He tried to sit up, to use his hands behind his back to his advantage, but a second shovel-full of dirt forced him straight back down.
The dirt came down quicker and heavier as the second man joined the first.
He clenched his eyes shut as he felt more of his body being buried in the earth, where no-one would ever find him.
They left his head to last, but d'Artagnan hadn't even noticed, not thinking clearly anymore. His lungs were burning and his head aching as I don't want to die continued to be the only thought he had left.
Everything was dark and cold and there was no air left to breathe.
Something at the back of his mind was telling him that the more he panicked, the faster his limited air would run out, but as quickly as the thought came to him it was gone again.
He could feel his lungs deciding to give up, not appreciating the lack of oxygen they were getting.
Then, out of nowhere, he felt the dirt that had condemned him to death getting lighter and lighter until suddenly he could breathe again. Strong hands pulled him roughly from his horrific burial place and brought him to the surface.
He tried to kick them off, not knowing if they were friend or foe, the sounds of shouting and metal striking metal all around him making him disorientated.
But as the rope unravelled around his wrists, then his feet, and he was pulled into someone's arms, a part of his mind tried telling him that he was okay.
He didn't have the strength to open his eyes, but he leaned into the man after hearing his voice, finally allowing his body to relax.
"It's okay, you're safe now, I'm here" Athos breathed, his whole body shaking with relief, as he hugged the boy tight, "you're safe."
He felt other hands on his body, checking for injuries, as a part of him vaguely noticed that the violent sounds that had surround him a moment ago had silenced.
He could hear voices but had no energy left to let him work out who they were talking to or what they were saying.
He just let Athos grip him tighter as he focused on one thought, I'm safe.
The End