Athos

Pain. Consciousness was inevitably connected to pain.
He realized that his hands were bound. He secretly tried the knots on the rope, but to no avail. It seemed to have been done professionally.

He remembered Aramis' hand covering his mouth. The Spaniard had pointed to d'Artagnan, who was silently leaving the house. He remembered how they had followed their Gascon. He remembered the fight-the fight which they had obviously lost, as they were now captives.

Oh God! Aramis and d'Artagnan were once again captives! He refused to think about how it might destroy them.

"Athos!" He heard desperation in Aramis' voice. And then-there was d'Artagnan's scream.
The former comte wanted to cover his ears. He could not bear to hear his protégé's distress.

"They've cauterized the bullet within the wound. When we get free, the bullet must be immediately taken out!" hissed Aramis.

He could trust their medic to always be thinking about wounds.

He did not like the urgency in the Spaniard's voice. It took him a while before he understood exactly what Aramis was talking about. To seal a bullet in the flesh meant to provoke a horribly painful infection, as the pus could not be expelled outside the body. D'Artagnan would die in terrible pain. Even Athos, with his limited medical knowledge, knew that.

"The boy is worth nothing to us. So be nice, Aramis... otherwise, your little friend is dead."
"I need to tend to his wound properly."
"It will cost you. But I suppose you like it, Spanish whore."

"Aramis, no…" Athos was not sure if his brother could hear him.

"Will you be nice to us, Aramis?"
"Yes. But in return, you are going to give me the chance to take care of d'Artagnan's wound."
"Agreed."

Athos stared at Aramis. The eyes met for a moment. In the marksman's brown orbs, Athos saw a plea. However, there was no time to think about what Aramis was asking for, as the captors took the medic to the middle of the room.

"One false move, and the boy dies," growled one of the bandits.

Athos felt so sick.
He could not bear what he was witnessing.
He averted his eyes, but could not escape from the sounds, which were killing him. Rage was building in his chest, nearly suffocating him.
He wanted to kill Allancourt's men. He needed to kill Allancourt.

And then he met Aramis' empty gaze. He watched, terrified, as the last remains of life disappeared from those brown orbs. Aramis' soul was dying. His silent goodbye was all too tangible for Athos.

He wanted to scream.
He wanted so badly to save his brothers.
He could not breathe.
The despair he felt could not be extinguished with any amount of alcohol.

"Stop it! Take me! Leave him in peace. I was the one who killed your master's sister!"

One of the bandits glanced at his direction, lazily fastening his breeches.
"So it's about his sister." He shrugged. His eyes were slightly unfocused. Athos was well acquainted with that look, having seen it on Aramis' face multiple times. It always betrayed the Spaniard when they disturbed him and his lover. It only made Athos' rage more fierce.

"You are not really my type, musketeer." The bandit laughed at his own joke. Then something in Athos' eyes made him take a step back.

"We have our orders concerning you, Monsieur Athos. I'm sorry, but you will have to wait for your turn," he said, his tone official.

A soldier...or perhaps a courtier, thought Athos. A noble. He was suddenly sure of it.

"Athos?" He heard a whisper.
D'Artagnan. He had prayed that the boy would stay unconscious for a longer period of time.
"D'Artagnan?"
He could not think of any platitude to offer. All he could do is to acknowledge that the Gascon was with them.

"Athos… I am so sorry… I never thought… O God… what have I done?!"
"You have given away your friends," replied the bandit with a leering smile.
"No! No! Do not listen to him, D'Artagnan! Look at me! It is not your fault! You did nothing wrong!"

"Yes… Your Spanish friend is so enjoying our reunion! Come… I'll help position you so you can watch more easily." He approached the boy, who stepped back, his back hitting the earthen wall.

Athos realized that they were in a dug out basement. Such a place might be missed by a search party. However, it also meant that there was no way to secure them to the wall. So when they were finally left alone, they might be able to move.

The search party… They could not be held too far away from Epi-sur-Esonne. He had been unconscious during the journey, but he was quite sure it had not been not longer than an hour or two.

Had the shots been heard in the village? Athos was not sure. They had to survive until Tréville found them. All their hopes were placed in their Captain...and in Pierre. The boy might know this place. He had not had the time to talk with his Captain about Pierre. He had been so naïve to think he had plenty of time!

D'Artagnan's whine made him focus on his little brother. The bandit changed the boy's position. Athos could see that the Gascon was shivering under his captor's hands.

He was afraid to say anything. What if the bandits used his words to torment his young protégé even further?!

They finally finished with the marksman.
Aramis curled up on the ground, and began to vomit. The torture seemed endless. After several dry heaves, he crawled as far as the rope bound around his neck let him. The rope was tied to a stick buried in the wall. Athos thought they might be able remove it from the wall, given a chance.

"I thought you wanted to take care of your friend. I know now it was too much for you."

Aramis somewhat managed to lift himself onto his knees.
"I need a knife, thread, and needle. Water and wine."
"And do you really think you'll get them? Do you really think you deserve to get them?"
"He deserved to kill you!" spat Athos.

"So pathetic…"
"If you want more fun, you'll give me those things," replied Aramis, his voice strangely distant.
"No! Aramis! What are you doing?" hissed d'Artagnan.
"Trying to save your life!"
"No! Just let me die! Don't sacrifice yourself for me! I beg you!"

Aramis closed his eyes in defeat.
"I'm sorry, Aramis! Please… forgive me… Mis?"
After a long silence, the medic replied, "Believe me, you don't want to die from that kind of infection."
Athos scowled at him.

Aramis understood, and added softly, "There is nothing to forgive you for, D'Artagnan"

The bandit shoved the things Aramis had asked for over to the medic. The he knelt and took Aramis' right hand. He held it palm up as the other man poured boiling water over it. The marksman winced, and his eyes widened in despair. Then they took his other hand, and did exactly the same.

"Now you can dig out the bullet. But remember, one trick, and the boy is dead. And don't forget that you owe us-even if the boy dies."

Aramis looked at his burned hands. Athos could not tell how bad it was, but he saw that the medic was clearly in pain when he started to open the boy's shirt. Each move was agonizing for him.

Athos had to ask. "Aramis… are you able to do this?!"
"If he is to have a fighting chance, I have to," whispered Aramis. He gently touched the cauterized skin, probing for the bullet, which was buried deeper than he had thought. It was clear it had not punctured the lung, but was situated too close to it for his liking.

"D'Artagnan, this will hurt..."
"Kill me, Aramis! Kill me! If you ever called me your brother, do it now!" hissed d'Artagnan.

At this point, Athos felt he must intervene.
"Save him, Aramis."
He gave the order so as to spare his friend from having to make a choice, because he instinctively knew that Aramis was not sure which option was best for his little brother. But Athos knew what was the only option for him – and it meant keeping d'Artagnan alive.

He thought he would never forget the look of utter betrayal in d'Artagnan's eyes.

Aramis nodded slightly, then steadied his hands and made an incision. The boy tried to recoil from the pain. Athos knew that the medic needed some help to immobilize the wounded musketeer, but he refused to ask their captors for help.

"Please, d'Artagnan, stay still! Aramis wants to help you", he said, his voice soft.

God!
He wanted to take the boy in his arms and tell him he was safe. He wanted to soothe him, promising that everything would be fine. He had done so many times before when Aramis had tended to the Gascon's wounds.

Aramis bit his lip so hard as he searched for the bullet that blood began to trickle from his mouth. Athos could not breathe as D'Artagnan screamed in agony, trying to escape the knife buried in his body. Aramis withdrew the blade and tried to soothe the boy, smearing the blood on his face. He was obviously afraid that if the Gascon struggled, more damage would be inflicted on his body. Finally, d'Artagnan went limp.

"Aramis…?" Athos could not finish his question.
"He is still alive," whispered the medic, going back to his work.

Finally, he dug out the bullet and the bits of cloth that had been buried in the wound. The site bled heavily, and Athos stared at it with dread. The medic cleaned the wound meticulously, then started to stitch it up. Athos saw that every move tormented the Spaniard.

When Aramis finished, he collapsed near d'Artagnan.

The bandit shoved him away, then bound him. Then they left the musketeers alone.

Aramis was shivering badly, and Athos feared that his brother was going into shock.

"Aramis? Aramis?!" he whispered pleadingly.

He did not receive an answer. And from the place he where he was sitting, he could not even be sure that d'Artagnan was still breathing. He started to struggle against his bonds. Finally, the hook he was attached to pulled away from the dirt wall, and Athos managed to crawl over to his little brother. He desperately searched for any sign of life. When he finally found it, he sobbed with relief.

Thank you, Riversidewren!