Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. They belong to Alexandre Dumas. I'm just borrowing them for a bit.
Author's Note: This is my first venture into Musketeer's territory. I've read 'The Three Musketeers' and 'Twenty Years After' so far, and hope to read the rest soon. Anyway, it's amazing what type of things can come out of a boring history class. I hope you enjoy it!
The day came when Athos left the service, when he turned in his musketeers' hat, plumed feather and all, in exchange for…He did not quite know what he was exchanging it for. But he told d'Artagnan, who worried after him, that he had received an inheritance. This was true, but it only gave Athos a reason behind which he could hide the real truth of his departure.
Athos, though he did not want to admit it to the others, had not quite come to terms with Milady's death. He knew that the punishment had been just; however, he did not know if it was just that he and his companions had given the punishment. After all, he was not without his faults. Was he really in a position to pass such grave judgement on another? Did he really have the right to determine whether someone would live or die?
"I wish you would rethink this," said d'Artagnan as Athos walked with him from Monsieur Tréville's office for the last time.
Athos smiled in his melancholy way. "You know as well as I do that I shall not change my mind."
"I know," d'Artagnan said, regrettably, "but one can hope."
"Yes, one can always hope."
The time for departure was drawing nearer; both friends could feel it. D'Artagnan was seized by a sudden, overwhelming worry for Athos. "But what will you do?" he asked. "Surely not nothing!"
"To be truthful, I am not sure myself," Athos admitted. "I tell you this because I value your trust over all others', and you ought to know the truth at the very least." He paused, thinking, and unsure of how to present his thoughts to d'Artagnan without causing his friend undue worry.
"I need something to live for," he said, finally. "I am not quite sure if you could understand such a thing. Before I became a musketeer…" He paused again, and d'Artagnan listened with all the more interest because this was a subject rarely touched upon. "Before I was a musketeer I lived for her, Milady. After I…tried to kill her…I lived for the musketeers. And now—"
"Do you not still live for the musketeers?" d'Artagnan asked, confused. "The musketeers are not gone."
"No," Athos replied, "but they have become different. Things have changed. Look at us—we are the only two left of our four in the service. What have we worked for since the death of Milady, and since you became a lieutenant? We were fighting for something then. We were driven by some force, some intrigue, some great hope of grandeur. Then we conquered all, we reached that great pinnacle. And now what?"
D'Artagnan thought he was beginning to understand. "So you are looking for something more."
Athos' reply was a grim smile and the words, "Or less."
"It is rather a fearsome way of living, Athos," d'Artagnan noted. "How can you be sure of always having something to live for?" He stopped for a moment, thinking that Athos was going to answer this question, but his friend merely shrugged his shoulders. A thought then occurred to d'Artagnan that excited him. "Why not live for life itself?"
"I wish I could," said Athos, grim smile still in place. "My inability to live solely for life is one of my greatest faults. Men like you, d'Artagnan, who can live for life are rare, rare indeed, but it is a great thing. It is one of the reasons why I have said, time and again, that you are the best of us. I still say it."
D'Artagnan felt great joy, the kind that often accompanied any compliment from Athos. Yet he also felt a great sadness, brought on by Athos' grim outlook on life. D'Artagnan wished he could make Athos see life as he did, but he knew that he could not. Athos was one who was set in his values, and near impossible to change. The only thing d'Artagnan could do was bid his friend adieu.
"Adieu," Athos said, taking d'Artagnan's hand tenderly into his own. "My son, I do not know when, or if, we shall meet again, but if we do I hope it will be under the best of circumstances."
D'Artagnan nodded, feeling almost tearful (but trying his hardest not to let a single tear fall). "I wish you the best, Athos," said he. "I wish that you find something to live for."
"Thank you," Athos said. "You have no idea how much that means to me. I wish the same for you, d'Artagnan." And the two friends parted ways.
Athos fervently wished that d'Artanan's wish for him would come true. He already felt himself sinking into the dark depths of his thoughts, things he would not like to be left alone with consuming him, leaving him with no choice but to succumb to them. As he walked through the dark streets of Paris, he foresaw himself falling into ruin unless something should save him.
This was his greatest fault: at this moment, Athos had nothing to live for, and it was killing him.