Pulling his eyes open from where they had involuntarily shut, D'Artagnan glanced around him to try and gauge how long his eyes had been closed. He was sure he had blacked out for a few minutes; the fuzzy feeling in his head and the stickiness of his eyes confirmed his thoughts. He watched as the bandits huddled around their fire, the smell of cooking meat making his stomach growl and he tried to remember the last time he had eaten anything substantial.
His eyes locked on Pierre, sat by himself at the edge of the group, a dagger in his hand as he drew pictures in the dirt before him. The rain had thankfully ceased for now and he was able to make out the bruise developing on the young man's cheek, his cloak wrapped up around his shoulders, almost trying to hide from the rest of the group. For a moment D'Artagnan felt sorry for him.
He knew what it felt like to be the outsider; the Musketeers had such a strong bond that when he initially joined them as recruit he felt like he was always shadowing them, clinging to their friendship but not quite fitting in. It had taken months before his friends had convinced him that he was welcome. Looking back, it sounded ridiculous. His brothers had never made him feel anything but welcome.
A round of raucous laughter had D'Artagnan glaring at his captors and wishing he had a weapon to shut them up. He was tired and hungry and his body thrummed in agony. As much as he was loath to admit it, he would love one of Aramis' horrible pain draughts, even just to dull the pain for a while.
He tugged at his bonds again but to no avail. He was only rubbing his wrists raw and it was one more injury he would have to deal with when he was free. He pulled his knees back up to his chest, hoping to draw some heat into his body. The rain may have stopped but the wind hadn't and the chill tore through his body.
D'Artagnan felt his head dropping down to his chest, his eyes struggling to remain open when he heard it. A bird call. Three to be precise. And he knew they could only come from one person. Without raising his head and attracting attention from his captors he lifted his eyes to the far treeline and caught Aramis' dark eyes staring back at him, his hat low over his face. Aramis nodded and flashed him a quick smile before disappearing behind a tree.
He knew that Porthos and Athos were with him and that worried him more than being defenceless, tied to a tree. He knew his brothers were too injured to be involved in a fight, especially Athos and particularly against a group of uninjured bandits.
He had no more time to think when a shot rang out through the trees and one of the bandits near the fire collapsed, his chest still. His remaining captors panicked and ran around the camp gathering weapons and looking to try and find their assailants.
Another gunshot rang out and another bandit fell to the dirt. D'Artagnan pulled at his bonds in frustration. He was a sitting duck tied to the tree and without a weapon to defend himself. No sooner had he thought that than Pierre landed with a thump beside him and started sawing through the ropes that secured him to the tree.
'Why?' Was all D'Artagnan could get out as he watched the dagger cut through the ropes.
'He's gone too far,' Pierre spoke with the most confidence D'Artagnan had heard him with. He pulled D'Artagnan to his feet, the musketeer groaning as his side stretched, and handed him the dagger. D'Artagnan nodded at the young man and surveyed the battlefield around him. Aramis and Porthos were over to his left, swords in hand and clashing with two bandits each. Athos was to his right, obviously favouring his injured leg and fighting one of his captors but it was clear that his energy was flagging.
Figuring that Aramis and Porthos could hold their own, D'Artagnan charged over towards Athos and he reached him just before Felix attacked, firing a shot that went wide into the trees. D'Artagnan glared and raised his dagger, standing in front of a now opponent-less Athos. He could feel Athos' warm body behind him, his hand gripping his shoulder in support and relief.
'Surrender and we will spare your life,' D'Artagnan promised, trying his damndest to keep the dagger in his hand from trembling along with the rest of his body. He knew that Athos could feel it; he could probably feel the heat of his skin pouring through his shirt but that was an issue for later. Now they had to get out safely and preferably without any further injuries.
'Somehow I doubt that,' Felix sneared, his sword raised and pointed at D'Artagnan's chest. The two glared at each other for what felt like hours before Pierre jumped in beside Felix.
'Let them go,' Pierre pleaded, pulling at his brother's jacket sleeve. 'We don't need the money and they said they would let us go. Please Felix.'
D'Artagnan didn't have time to take a breath as he watched Felix move his sword from his chest and drove it into Pierre's. Pierre's eyes went wide and D'Artagnan watched in horror as blood gushed from the wound and the young man dropped to his knees. His mouth gulped for air and he raised his eyes to his brother, tears falling down his cheeks.
'You were always such a disappointment,' Felix spat as he watched Pierre crumple to the ground, his eyes closed and his chest still.
'No!' D'Artagnan shouted as he grabbed Athos' sword from his hand and lunged at Felix. Porthos and Aramis had finished disposing of their opponents and rushed over to their two friends, Aramis quickly grabbing Athos before he crumpled to the ground and holding him up. The musketeers watched their friend battle, ready to jump in and assist if needed.
'He was your brother!' D'Artagnan yelled, slamming his sword against Felix's with a ferocity that momentarily stunned his captor.
'He was useless. He was too soft,' Felix replied, thrusting his sword forward and nicking D'Artagnan's collar bone. D'Artagnan barely felt it as he attacked again, pushing forward and forward until Felix tripped over one of his fellow comrades and D'Artagnan thrust the sword into his chest.
'He was your brother,' D'Artagnan repeated, tears pooling in his eyes, 'The rest doesn't matter.' Felix's face paled and his head slumped into the dirt, a heavy breath leaving his lips as his body stilled.
D'Artagnan fought to control his emotions as he felt Porthos sidle up beside him, slapping a hand onto his shoulder.
'You alright?' Porthos asked with as much gentleness as he could muster. D'Artagnan turned to face him, noting the new growing bruise on his cheek and the dirt streaked across his face.
'I'm fine, are you?' D'Artagnan threw the question back, turning away from Porthos and heading back to the other soldiers. Porthos sighed in frustration and followed him. They all knew D'Artagnan's version of 'fine' and theirs were extremely different.
Aramis didn't have time to question D'Artagnan about his hidden injury before he felt Athos lean his weight into him and he had to push his legs into the ground.
'A little help here,' Aramis huffed as he held onto his eldest brother, supporting him before he fell to the dirt. Porthos rushed over and grabbed Athos' other arm and flung it over his shoulder, taking the majority of the weight from Aramis.
'We need to get back to the inn. I need to examine Athos' leg and I'm eager to see what our young friend has been hiding from us,' Aramis stared knowingly at D'Artagnan, smirking when the boy had the decency to look embarrassed.
'What about the bodies?' D'Artagnan asked as he limped over to Pierre and crouched down beside him. 'He didn't deserve this. He tried to help me.'
Aramis nodded in reply.
'We'll inform the local gendarmes when we return to the inn and we will see that he gets a proper burial,' Aramis promised, grasping D'Artagnan's shoulder in support and frowning at the trembling he felt coursing through his friend's body.
D'Artagnan sighed and nodded, pushing himself to his feet. He forced himself to stand straight and not curl over his injured side. He could deal with it back at the inn. He started walking back over to Porthos and Athos, concern growing as he saw Athos' eyes were closed and Porthos was looking worriedly at him.
'He'll be fine when I get a chance to look at that leg,' Aramis explained knowingly as he led D'Artagnan's horse over the group and handed the reigns to the boy. D'Artagnan took them gratefully and patted the horse's neck.
'Did I do something wrong?' D'Artagnan asked, worrying his lower lip in his teeth as he glanced between Aramis and Athos.
'You did nothing wrong,' Aramis promised, his hand resting on the back of D'Artagnan's neck and giving it a reassuring squeeze, 'He has a fever; it could be infection or it could just be his body reacting to the injury. The fever is not high and he will be fine.' Aramis smiled at D'Artagnan, squeezed his neck once more before walking over and gathering the remaining horses.
'I will ride with Athos to ensure he doesn't fall off his horse. He would be most embarrassed should that happen,' Aramis explained with a smirk, pulling himself into his saddle and helping Porthos and D'Artagnan get Athos onto the horse in front of him. D'Artagnan groaned and bent over when Athos was safely situated on the horse and struggled to catch his breath.
'Okay, pup?' Porthos asked, a warm hand resting between his shoulder blades and he breathed in as deeply as his ribs would let him.
'I will be,' D'Artagnan assured him as he straightened himself, his hand going to his side as the burning of his wound became too much for him to ignore.
'Let's get back and get that looked at, hmm?' Porthos asked, his hand still on D'Artagnan's back and pushed him gently towards his horse. 'Are you alright to ride by yourself?'
D'Artagnan rolled his eyes and pulled himself into his saddle, pushing down the nausea that grew in his chest and the darkness that curled around the edges of his vision. He clicked his tongue and led his horse forward, doing his best to stop his body trembling. They needed to get back to the inn as quickly as possible and get Athos' injury looked at.
And as much as D'Artagnan hated to admit it, he himself was far from fine.