Special thanks to Riversidewren. I hope you'll enjoyed this. I wanted to get everyone's POV of that endless night.
D'Artagnan
He felt miserable. Helpless. He knew that he had failed Athos utterly. However, if he had been asked how he had failed, he knew he would not be able to explain it. The heat was suffocating him. He was struggling to breathe. The coldness on his face was bringing him some relief, but it was not enough. Silence was surrounding him. Athos' voice was not there to anchor him. Athos was upset with him, and he had every right to be. It was just so simple.
D'Artagnan leaned into coldness of the still body. His mind screamed at him, telling him that something was terribly wrong. There was a life slipping away. He was not sure whose life it was. His? Suddenly, he knew that there was a reason to accept it. He did not remember the reason, though. He just felt so tired.
A room? A cellar? He could not put a name to the place. Aramis was sitting on the floor, leaning into the wall. He looked haggard, and was totally dishevelled, his hair partially hiding his face. The Gascon could see that his eyes were half open. The Spaniard motioned to d'Artagnan to sit down. Was he shackled? D'Artagnan was not sure. Aramis remained silent, and seemed to be waiting for something. The boy knew that he needed to talk to his friend about something important. He had been searching for Aramis for some time, but now, when there was an opportunity to talk, he could not remember what was so urgent. He was so incredibly tired.
Outside, a storm was raging. The rain beat against the window. The window itself was changing, alternating between the barred window of a prison and a window in a normal room. D'Artagnan was vaguely aware that he needed Aramis' help. He glanced at his friend's face. The sharpshooter must have felt his gaze, because he looked straight at the boy, his eyes conveying an unspoken question.
The lad shivered. He felt awful. He was certainly ill. Was that the reason he wanted to meet with Aramis? He could not remember. What he did know was that staring at his friend's brown eyes seemed very important right now.
Suddenly, he found himself kneeling in the rain, holding a body in his arms. He could feel the warm blood on his hands. He desperately screamed for help, but there was no one to answer his call. He lowered his eyes to look into his father's face, and suddenly froze. He was not holding his father, but Aramis, his lifeless body cooling rapidly. His friend's blood was on his hands. D'Artagnan prayed that he himself would die there instantly alongside his comrade. He should have saved Aramis. He had known where the marksman was, but he had failed to save him. He was weeping. He hoped Porthos would kill him. It would be the best option for him.
So, why was he in that barred room again? Was it a dungeon? A cellar?
'Aramis…' he whispered, 'You are dead! Did you come here for vengeance?'
The sharpshooter-no, his ghost-finally reacted. He glanced at the boy, and d'Artagnan saw that there was sadness in his eyes. Not hatred, not anger, just sadness-and silent resignation.
'Talk to me! Do you want to punish me for your death?!'
No… not for his death. It had been Athos-Athos had been killed! That was the reason for Aramis' silence. The walls began to tilt, and blackness closed in on him. A hot blackness. He felt as if the guilt was burning him alive.
'Aramis!' he gasped. He needed help.
The medic slowly raised the hand that was shackled to the wall. Deep regret was in his eyes.
D'Artagnan curled on the floor in a futile attempt to shield himself from the pain, from the heat. He drew closer to Aramis, and he could feel cold fingers on his cheek.
'Why do I fail everyone I love?' he asked in a broken voice.
'We're cursed. All of us,' came the older musketeer's answer. D'Artagnan could not agree more.
'Will we live to see the sunrise?' the Gascon asked suddenly.
Aramis gently shook his head.
Heavy rain. The inn. Puddles of water mixed with blood.
The images flooded him.
He was dying.
He thought he could already hear his father's warm voice. How he longed to hear him once again!
'Fight, d'Artagnan! Don't give up!' It was not Athos, but the voice was a familiar one. A voice which he trusted, and to which he listened eagerly.
Cold fingers wound around his wrist. Raindrops flowed down his face. Everything hurt.
Then he saw her. She was so beautiful. He drank in her smile, but she was not smiling at him. He wanted to hold her in his arms just one more time-to tell her how much he had been missed her. But then her husband called her, and she disappeared into their house. Their house- which for a few months, had been d'Artagnan's home as well.
He ran away from that street, leaving the memories behind. He was once more in the strange room with Aramis. His friend was still there, waiting for his execution.
'Help me!' cried d'Artagnan. He could feel the pain of a stab wound in his side.
'You're beyond my help, lad,' came the sad reply. A hand gently stroked his hair.
'I know… I'll die if they kill you...' he replied
A sad smile ghosted Aramis' lips. Unfortunately, d'Artagnan could not hear his friend's answer, and felt very frustrated. It was so important that he hear what Aramis had to say!
'D'Artagnan, listen to me! You must fight! For me!'
'I was the reason for your death, Athos… Don't ask me to live!' He did not hear his own voice, but that was not really important. After all, he was talking to the dead.
'Tell Constance I loved her,' he begged. Who was he begging? He did not know.
'I will break you. You will tell me everything I want to know!' He did not recognize the man who said these words, but d'Artagnan believed that he meant it. Clearly, this man would do everything to break him-and he was so utterly alone.
Suddenly, there was a change. Someone shook him roughly. A voice- Athos' voice- was calling him.
'I am coming..' he promised.
God, he was so tired…