Love is a terrible thing Athos decided. It made people do dangerous things, putting lives in danger, clouding judgement of self-preservation versus physical and emotional satisfaction. Such as the brief contact and short sentences exchanged between Constance and d'Artagnan before the latter was unceremoniously clunked on the head and deposited in the street outside the execution block.
These were the thoughts on Athos' mind as he pulled his young protege off the ground and hauled him to his feet. The younger musketeer muttered Constance's name, but his head lolled against Athos' neck and he could barely keep his feet under him, leaving Athos to more or less drag his companion through the streets back to his room at the Garrison.
They were barely a street over from their destination when d'Artagnan finally got a foot solidly on the ground and forced his arm off of Athos' shoulders. Athos took one more stride before turning to look at him. The younger looked terrible, blood plastered across one side and the lower part of his face, hair tossed over one side of his head in a disheveled manner. Frankly, he looked like shit. The elder kept his thumbs loosely hooked in his belt, ready to catch him if he fell.
"Athos.. We need to save her." His voice was so crushed sounding. His eyes were unfocused, staring slightly to the left of Athos' head.
"She's on the list, d'Artagnan. If you recall Aramis is locked in that same prison right now. The Queen is detained in the palace. Though they may not realize it, the king and dauphin are being held hostage by Rochefort."
d'Artagnan gave a sharp intake of breath as he remembered Aramis' predicament, potentially facing a far more painful end. His gasp jarred his ribs, shooting pain over the bruised bones, his face paled, making the dark skin around his eyes appear even darker and he would've landed hard on his knees had Athos not caught him under the armpits, gently lowering him to the ground. Athos gently pulled him to a nearby wall, leaning him against it. d'Artagnan immediately wrapped an arm around his ribs, pulled his knees to his chest and covered his eyes with his other hand, feeling light headed.
"We will find a way d'Artagnan. Her sentence is to be carried out at dawn. Let us get back to the Garrison, you can rest while Treville and I come up with a plan." The young Gascon weakly nodded, but did not move. Athos slowly counted to thirty in his head before attempting to manhandle him to his feet again. d'Artagnan groaned and tripped on his feet a couple more times, but they made it back to the Garrison and had him deposited on his bed in short time.
Athos disappeared for a few minutes, but returned with Treville and a water skin.
"Drink," he said, tossing the skin to the young musketeer, " and then rest. The sun is setting and we only have the nighttime hours to put together a plan and you are of no use in this state."
d'Artagnan nodded, taking a swallow of water. He could tell from the taste it was from the public well three streets over, it was much sweeter than the salty water from the Garrison kitchen well. He poured some onto a cloth he found on the floor next to his bed and started to clean his face, wincing as the fabric irritated the cuts on his face. He wished the gentle hands of Constance or Aramis were here to help him. He felt his eyes water, unsure of the cause, whether it was despair for his lover and brother or the wounds on his face.
He could vaguely hear Athos and Treville speaking at the table across the room, their shadows from the setting sun growing longer. He desperately wanted to help with the plan, but the pain in his head, ribs and heart eventually pulled him into the darkness. Athos was right, a couple hours sleep and he'd be better off to help.