Author's Note: I want to say a big Thank You to celticgal1041 for looking this over and giving me tips...You're my inspiration!
D'artagnan turned and with a calm he didn't feel, walked away from the trio he had called his friends, brothers. He should've known this was coming. The events of the last few weeks had been leading up to this point. He had just been foolish to believe that everything would get better, when they talked it out. He knows that now. He knows that they never meant their brotherhood, they never meant their friendship, they never meant anything they said.
He walks up the steps that lead to his room, the other Musketeers parting like the Red Sea, whispering, snickering, grumbling to each other about what just happened...about him. About how no one wanted him around anymore. How he was a traitor. And while it didn't show on his face, it hurt to know that they thought so little of him. The men he risked his life for, would have given it if need be, watching him with disdain and disgust. It hurt him like nothing else ever has.
He made it to the door, surprisingly, without trouble. The familiar feel of the room didn't comfort him like it used to. Instead, it felt like the walls were closing in on him, suffocating him. It no longer felt like a place he belonged, a place to call home. His eyes ached with un-shed tears but he held them back then grabbed a small rucksack and packed his meager belongings. He didn't want the rest. He didn't want the reminder of this life.
Once he filled it he slung it over his shoulder before making his way, for the last time, down the stairs to the courtyard below. They were waiting for him. When he reached them he just stood there for a moment before setting down the bag at his feet. He forced back more tears, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing his grief written all over his face. Then he pulled the pauldron off his shoulder before turning, grabbing the rucksack again and walking to the gate. When he reached it he dropped the pauldron in the dirt and dust. He knew how they would take it and to be honest, he wanted them to be offended. Then he just walked away with his head held high.
Only once he was away from the garrison and out of the Musketeers eyesight did he finally let the tears slip down his cheeks. If anyone were to see him they would see the grief, hurt and betrayal written on his features. But at this point he didn't care. All he cared about was getting out of Paris, maybe even France entirely.
When he reached the city limits he found his thoughts wandering to his father and wondering if he would be proud of him for walking away with his head held high or would he be ashamed that D'artagnan had failed.
D'artagnan continued on his way down the road, away from the city, away from his life, away from everything that he had held dear. All that is over...It's time to start again...A fresh start...