The moment replayed in all their minds as they sat at the table, slumped in defeat in the Captain's tent. It was like some sick nightmare that tormented them all, not allowing them any peace.
It had hit Athos hard. He had been so close, so close to D'artagnan and to dragging him back. However, the young Gascon had managed to easily slip through his fingers. The thought of losing his brother dragged Athos back to that dark place within a heartbeat, the pit of self-loathing and self-hatred calling his name as he blamed himself for what had happened.
"D'artagnan!" Athos shouted as he swung his sword at the closest Spaniard. He glanced over to where the younger musketeer was trying to take on five men at the same time to only see him go down, hitting the ground hard. The musketeers closest to D'artagnan suddenly jumped into action, trying their hardest to get to their fallen brother but only finding that they were dramatically out-numbered and out-skilled by the enemy.
"D'artagnan!" Athos shouted again, trying to get over to D'artagnan who laid still on the ground. He forced himself not to the think of the worst, not allowing himself to admit defeat. D'artagnan was not dead.
Athos grunted as he quickly blocked an oncoming blow to his side, his attention drawn back to his fight as gritted his teeth from the force of sword hitting sword. He pushed back, causing the Spaniard he was dueling to stumble slightly and Athos quickly took advantage of the man's poor footwork. He swung his sword across the attacker's chest, making him collapse to the ground with a cry and drop his sword.
Athos quickly looked back to see that D'artagnan and the other musketeers had been overthrown, each of them being swung over the Spaniard's awaiting horses, D'artagnan hanging face first over the front of the Spanish Captain's horse. Athos took off running, heart pounding against his chest while his hand gripped his sword tightly, wanting anything to drive the blade through the Captain's chest for trying to take his men.
"Retreat!" Their Captain shouted and his men gathered their reins, kicking their horses to start pounding down the path and away from the Musketeers.
Athos was a second away from making it to the Captain's horse, a foot away from grabbing D'artagnan and pulling him back. However, a musket ball to the shoulder stopped him in his tracks, sending him stumbling backwards to the ground with a heavy grunt. The Spanish Captain smirked down at him from his steady horse, one hand holding a smoking pistol while the other pulled at the horse's reins.
Athos groan as he rolled over onto his front and pushed up onto all fours, the Captain circling him once as if to torment him before taking off down the path. The horse's hooves slammed hard against the ground, kicking up dust and causing Athos to cough as his lungs filled.
With the remaining strength he had left he pulled out his pistol, his left arm to only buckle underneath him from the pain and send him down to the ground on his front. He aimed his pistol along the ground with his right arm, finger steady on the trigger and one eye closed as he tried to focus. However, his vision blurred in and out making it almost impossible to get a clear shot. He fired anyway, a pointless shot but it was worth the try. The musket ball hit the ground a few feet away, and if Athos wasn't busy trying to suppress his cries of pain he would have swore at himself for the awfully poor shot.
He dropped his smoking pistol and could only watch in agony as D'artagnan and six of his men were dragged away, disappearing into the forest.He let his head to fall to the ground, forehead coming to rest in the dirt as he balled his fists up in anger.
He was gone.
D'artagnan was gone and Athos had just let it happen.
He slowly rolled onto his back, letting out a groan as his injured shoulder hit the ground a little less gracefully than he had wanted. Knowing there was no hope in catching up with the men on their horses, Athos let out a growl of frustration. He was angry beyond belief with himself that he had let D'artagnan slip through his fingers. However, the anger and adrenaline soon died down to be replaced with white hot pain, blood soaking his leather jacket from his wound that was beginning to make itself well known.
He squeezed his eyes shut, taking in a heavy breath through gritted teeth as he hoped to God the ball had gone through clean. Athos heard rushed footsteps coming over to him and felt the presence of his two brothers, both slowing to a stop on either side of him.
"How many?" Aramis asked as he skidded down onto his knees next to Athos, glancing towards the spot where the Spaniards had just disappeared within the trees.
"S-seven...including D'artagnan," he breathed, trying to stop his voice from cracking as he relived the moment D'artagnan had fallen to the ground. He had been so close, he could have stopped it… He could have saved his brother- He should have saved his brother.
Porthos ripped his bandanna off, throwing it to the ground in frustration while letting out a low growl. His hands then balled up into fists as he came to kneel down on the other side of Athos with a heavy thud.
"We need to go after them," Athos said, pushing up to only cry out from the burning pain that flared up from his shoulder. Porthos' hand was suddenly on his right shoulder, gently pushing him back down to the ground as he swallowed down his concern for his injured brother.
"First, I need to fix you up," Aramis said, pulling Athos' leather jacket open to reveal the wound. He grimaced before gently lifting Athos, feeling around the Captain's back for an exit wound. "Went clean through," Aramis then stated and both Porthos and Athos let out a sigh of relief.
The Captain closed his eyes briefly, thankful he wouldn't have to endure the painful process of having a musket ball removed. He took a breath before opening his eyes to meet Aramis' glistening ones. Aramis' eyes were filled with tears that he was trying to hold back, needing to stay focused on helping Athos but suffering from the loss of their brother at the same time.
"We need to get you back to the camp so I can fix you up properly," Aramis said as he applied pressure to the wound to try and stop the bleeding.
"But D'artagnan..." Porthos began but wondered off, his eyes moving from Athos' weak state to stare at the spot his other brother had once been.
Aramis let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he forced the tears back. He regained himself, knowing he had to stay strong. His main focus was to fix Athos up; he couldn't lose another brother that evening.
He leant over and grabbed Porthos' abandoned bandanna before tying it tightly around Athos' shoulder. It was a poor excuse of a bandage but it would work at stopping the bleeding for now.
"Let's get you up," he said before Athos gritted his teeth, allowing his two brothers to help him stand. Once steady on his feet Athos let out the breath he hadn't known he had been holding.
The other musketeers were slowly trying to busy themselves, a few checking the bodies on the ground, both French and Spanish, while others simply stood, breathing heavy from the fight with blood and dust covering their faces and clothes.
"We'll find him," Porthos then said to try and reassure not only his two brothers but himself too. Aramis simply lifted his free hand to grab his cross that hung around his neck, sending out a silent pray to God to bring their brother back to them unharmed.
Athos just stared blankly at the place where D'artagnan had just been, feeling as though he had let not only D'artagnan down but also the two brothers that we're currently holding him up.
"What do we do?" Porthos suddenly asked from where he sat at the table, elbows resting on the wooden top. Athos sighed, looking up from where he held his head in his right hand, trying to figure out the letter he was currently failing to write. He looked up at Porthos to meet the larger man's gaze before suddenly looking back down at the table and at the maps the covered most of it.
"We have scouts looking for Spanish camps in the surrounding area," Athos said, gesturing a hand over the area on the map their camp was. "Until we have a location, we can't really do anything regrading getting D'artagnan and the rest of them back," Athos said, straightening up as he spoke and forcing himself to look up at Porthos, seeing the pain his words caused the musketeer.
"So we just sit here and wait?" Aramis asked, his anger showing through the tension in his shoulders and his slightly raised voice.
"What else do you want me to do?" He asked with a slight irritated tone, looking over at Aramis and trying to keep his anger in check. The marksman stayed silent, knowing that the worst thing he could do in this situation was to start questioning Athos.
The Captain then turned away, rolling his left shoulder slightly to test the movement he could have without the pain flaring up too dramatically. Aramis had done his best with cleaning the wound out and stitching Athos back up, his left arm currently resting in a makeshift sling with his shoulder bandaged up.
He let out a long sigh before looking back down at the letter in front of him. There were a few crumbled up balls of paper scattered across the table, started and failed attempts of letters to Constance. Athos couldn't seem to find the rights words to tell Constance that her husband was currently in the hands of the Spanish.
He had written the letter to Treville, telling them D'artagnan and six of their men, six talented and brave but such young men, had been taken. He had also written to the families of the six missing musketeers, telling them he was sorry for what had happened and hoped to return them home safely.
However, now looking down at the words on the paper, he struggled to get it right for Constance. Everything he wrote seemed to be too impersonal and formal, as if it had no feeling to it and that he hadn't known her for years. He wanted to convey to her how sorry he was but a simple "I'm sorry, we're trying our best to bring him back" just didn't suffice in Athos' opinion.
Aramis watched Athos' mental struggle before looking sideways to his other brother, glancing up to see Porthos' expression was one of pain and sorrow. He knew they were all finding it difficult, knew D'artagnan was struggling the most. The not knowing what the Spaniard's were doing to their brother getting to them, making them picture horrific things that the enemy could be doing to D'artagnan to gain information from him.
He heard Athos growl in frustration, screwing up the letter with his right hand into a ball before starting again. His writing scribbled across the page effortlessly before pausing, his mind ticking away as he tried to think of what to write next.
None of them had been able to eat, too sick with worry for their missing brothers. Athos hadn't drunk anything since they had returned to camp last night, not even wine to ease his aching shoulder. He hadn't slept either, having paced at the tent entrance all night and ignoring how he needed rest to deal with his injury. Aramis and Porthos had tried to get some sleep. However, neither of them had been able to, lying awake and listening to Athos' footsteps as they tried to not to think of the worst for D'artagnan and the rest of the now prisoners.
The flap to the tent opened and one of the newest musketeers paused at the entrance, frightened to come in as he took in their expressions and the tension that hung thick in the air.
"What is it?" Athos asked, not looking up from the letter he was still trying to write.
"The prisoners are getting frustrated, they're starting to fight between themselves," he informed them, standing tall with a hand on the hilt of the sword by his side. They had managed to take in three prisoners who had been sent by the Spanish Captain as informants to try and gain information on France's battle plans. Let's just say D'artagnan had caught them and gave them a piece of his mind.
"Let them," Athos bluntly replied and the younger musketeer swallowed, preparing himself for what he was about to say next.
"I was just wondering if we could spare some food for them, scraps from this morning's meal," the musketeer said and Athos paused to look up at him. He saw the goodness in the man's eyes, the purity that which the war hadn't just quite yet torn from him.
The Captain took a breath, seeing how his anger and tiredness were taking over from his duty. He had to allow the men food; he could only hope the Spanish Captain would do the same for his musketeer prisoners.
"Of course, see to it at once. Make sure they get water as well," he said, this time much less forceful and the younger musketeer nodded before exiting quickly. The tent flap swung closed and Athos glanced back down, trying to force down the headache that was slowly building. "We need to plan a different supply route. I won't allow the Spanish to ambush more of my men," Athos then said, drawing himself away from the letter that he knew was a failure for now.
The Spanish had ambushed a few of their supply routes to the front, which only added to more soldiers weakening. With limited amount of food and gunpowder, they were slowly losing against the enemy. After the Spanish had attacked a French supply route, they had then turned back on themselves to try and take out Athos' group, ambushing them yesterday as the musketeers headed out to try and gain back French land. Athos and the rest of his men were getting frustrated with their slow movement, knowing they needed to gain more land or risk losing the war.
"I'll send a letter out to Treville with a new plan," Porthos said, his voice dull as if he had no life or energy left within him. He made to stand, scooping up the six sealed letters along with the one to Treville before exiting the tent, heading out to organise a new supply route with the General.
Aramis slid across the bench to take up Porthos' empty seat, sitting opposite Athos who simply looked up at him with a tired expression on his face, right hand slowly massaging his numb left shoulder.
"I can help if you want," Aramis said, gesturing to the letter that was half finished. Athos simply turned the paper around to face Aramis and allowed him to tackle it instead. "It's hard, I know that," Aramis began, glancing up at Athos before he continued writing. "But you can't let yourself think it was your fault," he added and Athos sighed, never amazed at how well his brothers knew him or how they could tell what he was thinking about in a heartbeat.
"I ordered our group to head forward, regain the land we let slip to only be ambushed on the way out, pushed back further and lose seven good-great soldiers. How is it not my fault?" Athos asked, his voice low and eyes sharp as he looked at Aramis.
"You didn't know the Spanish were waiting for us on the road," Aramis said, trying to stop Athos from beating himself up and spiraling into the pit of self-hatred he was slowly falling into.
"I'm the Captain, Aramis. I was so close to stopping the bastard Spaniard but I failed. I have to take responsibility for the loss," Athos said as they both felt the pain of losing D'artagnan to the Spanish.
"Not all of it though," Aramis then said, glancing up from the letter and giving Athos a knowing look. "Just because you're the Captain doesn't mean you have to take on this entire burden. Blaming yourself won't get us anywhere and it's not like you could have stopped them. Remember, you did get shot," he said and Athos titled his head up slightly, allowing Aramis' words to sink in. "We'll find them Athos," Aramis finished and Athos glanced away, looking down at the maps to busy himself.
"Let's hope," he simply said before pouring himself into finding out where the Spanish Captain could possibly be camping.
Hi, thank you so much for the followers, the favourites and the reviews. In response to Issai question, D'artagnan does trust the men we was taken with, you'll possible see a bit more of them in later chapters. Thank you Debbie, reviews always make my day. Anyway, please review guys and tell me what you thought of this chapter, I hope it was good. Until the next chapter my friends :)