D'Artagnan
He felt miserable. He was tired, but could not find any rest. After they had arrived at Epi-sur-Esonne, Louise and Claire had checked on their injuries. The burn on his hand was slightly infected, but Louise assured him it was nothing to worry about. She put a poultice on it, then bandaged it up efficiently.
Her care had shattered the young Gascon. He had hoped that the infection was well on its way to killing him. But he had only succeeded in slowing the healing. He was determined to act decisively, but discreetly.
They had crossed the river on the way to the village. After recent heavy rains, the water level was high, and the current-strong. D'Artagnan could not stop thinking about how easy it might be to accomplish his goal.
He would leave a message that he was leaving to take shelter in a monastery. Then, he would just jump into the freezing water. The current would take his body far away from the village. The plan sounded promising. It could mean the end of his torment.
He realized that the other musketeers and the Captain had left. The Inseparables, tired after their journey and Louise's poking and probing, were fast asleep, as was Flea.
The young Gascon knew his body craved rest, but he was not sleepy. He laid silently in the darkness until he was sure all was quiet. Then he got up, picked up his weapon, and left. He was wearing only his shirt and breaches. The night was very cold and rainy. Dark clouds were gusting along with the wind, their wild dance covering the barely visible moon.
D'Artagnan knew that the bridge was guarded by musketeers. He decided to sneak out of the village and approach the bank of the river from below the bridge. The water was too quiet here. As he left the village, He suddenly felt nauseous, and was shivering from the cold. He regretted leaving the large, comfortable bed and the warm house. But there was no going back for him. There was no place for him in the regiment. He nearly sobbed, swaying for a moment before he found the support of the tree.
God! He was close to tears. He was so pathetic!
"D'Artagnan?"A voice came from behind him.
Athos!
What was he doing here?! Had he spoiled everything?!
"I needed a walk," he answered, steeling himself as he turned to face his leader.
"A rather long walk, don't you think?"
Athos approached him.
Then a shot rang out. D'Artagnan heard Aramis scream, "Ambush!"
What was the Spaniard doing here?!
There was no time to think. They were surrounded by bandits, probably Allancourt's men. This was his chance to die. But he could not just die when he had put his brothers...or rather, his ex-brothers... in such danger.
He saw Aramis drop his empty pistol, then join the fight with his rapier. They fought against ten or more men. D'Artagnan prayed that the shots had been heard in the village.
He instinctively dodged a blade aimed at his heart, then pivoted and managed to parry another with his main gauche. It was then that a bullet hit him in the chest, and he fell. He heard Aramis shouting his name. Then the shout was abruptly cut off.
It was d'Artagnan's turn to scream when he saw Athos sway on his knees, then land face down in the mud. Then excruciating pain overwhelmed the young musketeer, and he desperately fought for air. It was pure agony, and he realized that his sight was darkening at the edges.
"Don't you dare die now, you scum!" He heard the scream from far away.
He saw the bloodied bodies of his brothers.
Brothers whom he had betrayed.
It was his fault.
His fault that they had been wounded.
His fault that they had been captured.
He could not bear this knowledge.
He screamed until someone's hand silenced him. The hand was swiftly replaced by a gag.
Suddenly, he realized he was in a room. He remembered nothing from the journey. He was alone with his captors. No… not alone. He could hear the relentless curses in Spanish.
Aramis…
They would torture him.
They will r*** him.
Again and again.
They would try to destroy him.
And this time they will succeed.
And all was his fault.
His fault alone.
Pain exploded in his chest. He smelled burning flesh.
He was vaguely aware that Aramis was shouting something.
"Be nice! Or your friend dies."
He heard the words through the fog of pain. He did not want to hear more. He just wanted to escape.
Escape?
His hand found a sharp object- perhaps a key or a sheathed knife-on the bandit's belt. He grasped it with his fingers, then pretended to have a seizure. The guard tried to immobilize him. D'Artagnan's strength faded, but he managed to hide the key before he was tied up once again.
He wanted to lose consciousness. He could not stand the sounds he was hearing, and could not bear to witness it again. He would not be humiliated.
"Aramis!" Athos cried out.
Oh God…
Athos was here.
He should not be here.
He should not be touched.
He should not have to witness it.
Athos will die.
Proud Athos.
His beloved mentor.
D'Artagnan wanted to cry, but he only managed to start choking on his gag.
The darkness was so inviting.
He was a traitor.
Perhaps he would finally manage to finish himself off.
Finally.
Before he inflicted more harm on his brothers.
On his ex-brothers.
On the people whom he had loved, when he had been capable of love.