Athos had lost track of time. Lamage came in in different intervals, sometimes bringing something to eat and drink, sometimes to beat d'Artagnan into unconsciousness.

The boy was nothing more than a mess of bruises and cuts, his eyes nealy swollen shut, his breath shallow as he tried to take air into his lungs without hurting his ribs. D'artagnan sat hunched in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest, his head resting against the cold wall. It was hard to tell if he was sleeping, unconscious or awake – it made no difference. Each time Lamage hurt him, his brothers protested. But is was useless. They just exhausted themselves and caused their wrists and ankles to bleed where the iron cut into them.

Athos was the only one who stayed silent, watching the horrifying treatment of his brother with shame and guilt in his eyes. He didn't dare to look away once. But he didn't allow himself to break – his brohters didn't too and they were much worse than him. Still, he wished to relieve them from their pains and knowing that he could end all of this, made him stomach twists. On the other, he knew that talking would mean certain death for all of them. Athos was helpless. He couldn't save them.

His eyes darted over to Porthos, who's hands were attached to a hook in the ceiling. A Heretic's fork had been placed around his neck. The sharp ends on both side of it, pushed slightly into the sensible skin of hi schest and throat – forcing him to keep his head upright fort he whole time. This develish thing had been put on him a few hours ago, maybe a day, and made it impossible for the exhausted man to rest if he didn't want to impale himself. His tiptoes danced over the broken glass beneath his feet, cutting his soles.

Aramis mumbled something Athos couldn't understand.
The marksman still hadn't eaten anything since their arrival in this hell, the result was clearly written on the pale face. His cheekbones stood out and his arms and legs were nothing more than bones. His ribs would be seen weren't it for the thin linen shirt. Sometimes he was allowed to drink, but then only the poisened water. After his first experience with the drug, Aramis had refused the next time. But dying of thirst went faster than you would think, so his brothers had forced him to drink it the next time. It may hurt him and made him go insane, but it kept him alive. And that was all that counted now.

In all this time, Athos hadn't lost his faith in Treville and the Musketeers and was rewarded for it after what felt an entire lifetime.

The door flung open as the Musketeers stormed inside the cell. Sudden silence hung over the soldiers for a few men as they took in the horrifying scene infront oft hem, before their Captain ripped himself out oft he trance. „Let's get them home!"

The moment the chains around his wrists fell tot he floor, Athos jumped to his feet. Ignoring the dizzyness that overcame him immeiatly, the swordsman swayed toward d'Artagnan who was closest to him. The boy was also released from his chains but didn't make an attempt to stand upright. „Let me help." Athos muttered as two Musketeers, Thoma and Marc, carefully lifted the boy. „You can help once were out of this hell." Athos flinched as Treville placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, slowly guiding him out oft he cell. The swordsman's steps were slow and stumbling, but he managed the way up the stares and out of the house. „We have to help them." He muttered once they were outside and turned around just to go back inside again, back to his brothers.

„There are Musketeers down there helping them already. Wait here, they will come out any moment." Treville carefully guided the slightly confused soldier to the carriage they had brought with them. Athos sat down, his hands shook as he took in the open fields in front of him. „How long?"

„Fourteen days." Treville's eyes had just as much guilt in them as Athos', as he watched how the other three were carried out oft he house. Aramis' arms were slung around the shoulders of two men, his thin legs not able to carry him on their own. At least he had woken, eventhough the marksman not really noticed what was happening around him. He just stumble until his body was forced to lay down again in the carriage. Treville sighed, knowing that he was the one who had killed Lamage didn't satisfy him enough. He had seen his men in bad shapes before, but never like his.

Athos immediatly crawled towards Aramis, placing his shaking hands onto the cheeks of the marksman, who was just about to fall unconscious again. „Water. He needs water." Athos finally spoke, his voice rough as his thumb drawed cirrcles on the palce face beneath him. Treville gave him a skin, which Athos held against his brothers lips. Aramis drank greedily, not caring if poison was in it or not. As his thirst was satisfied fort he moment, he closed his eyes.

D'Artagnan was the next to arrive at the carriage, being layed beside Aramis, the boy moaned. There was nothing Athos could do for him here, so the Captain just kneeled behind him and lay the Gascon's head into his lap. „Rest, mon ami. It's over. Soon we're back in Paris and the lovely Constance will see to your wounds." He assured and caused the boy to smile slightly. „Const'nce." D'Artagnan muttered and took his brothers hand. Did we make it, 'Thos?" He then asked, clearly not really registering his surroundings as well. Athos nod, before he realised that the boy's vision was probably blurry. „We did it." He confirmed, before Porthos was layed down beside the Gascon.

It had been quite an act to get the big man out of the cell, as his cut soles didn't allow him to walk alone and he was quite heavy to carry. But in the end, the Musketeers somehow managed it.

Athos sighed in reliev as the carriage started to move towards home. He didn't took his eyes from his sleeping or unconscious brothers once, making sure they were save. „You didn't break," he smiled weekly, pushing a streak of hair from d'Artagnans bloody face. „None of you did." He paused for a moment, letting the fresh ari fill his lungs. „I'm sorry."

So this story is slowly coming to it's end...

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