After watching his friends leave, Athos turned and walked back through the camp. He walked with his head held high and his back straight, moving with confidence when all he wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep. However, he was the Captain and he had a duty to check on his men before retiring to his tent later that evening, when the sun was just setting.
With a heavy heart he sunk to the table, the bottle of wine gripped tightly in one hand while he stared at the empty cup in front of him. He simply stared at it for a few more seconds before lifting the bottle to use his teeth to pull the cork out. Spitting the cork out to land on the table, he poured himself a greedy amount of wine into his cup, not caring that he spilt a few drops onto the maps.
He rested the bottle back down on the table, easing his grip from it before moving to pick up his cup. He swirled the red liquid around slightly, watching as the wine rose up dangerously to the edge of the cup before setting it back down on the table.
He wished he was out with his two brothers, fighting the small battle that would hopefully get them one more step to finding their missing brothers. However, he knew he would only be a burden with his injured shoulder and he also had to figure out battle plans with the General early in the morning.
He sighed, his free hand coming to run through his hair and tug at the knots slightly. The smell of wine had finally hit his nostrils, easing his senses and calming his mind slightly. However much he pined for the wine he didn't bring the cup to his lips, knowing one drink would lead to another and he wouldn't be able to pull himself back from that place... That dark place he had been to too many times. His hand moved to grip the cup once more, struggling to stop himself from lifting it to his lips.
He had to keep his mind clear and focused even when he was running on pure willpower to stay awake. His mind was racing, trying to think of one clear thing and failing dramatically; his thoughts were with his two brothers, hoping they found something of use from their small mission. Then they were on Constance, knowing she would be getting his letter early morning tomorrow. D'artagnan then slipped into his thoughts, causing his grip on the cup to tighten as he tried to push the image of himself running after his brother to the back of his mind and failing miserably at it.
He couldn't push passed the fact that he still felt responsible for it all. He should have known the Spanish would have been waiting for them; it was never that easy in war. And watching his brother get carried away and not being able to do anything about it... Well, let's just say it made Athos so desperately want to enter that dark place the wine took him.
So, without thinking of his duties, he lifted the cup and downed the contents within four large gulps. It ran down his throat and eased his racing mind as well as the pain from his shoulder, the taste of the wine bringing a somewhat sense of calm over him. It felt familiar, the cup in his hand, the wine buzzing through him. However, it lacked the hustle and bustle of the local tavern, or of his three friends sat surrounding him with smiles on their faces as Porthos won D'artagnan in yet another game of cards, draining the poor boy of his hard earned money.
He slowly removed the makeshift sling Aramis had instructed him to wear for at least a week. He dropped the material to the table and his eyes landed on the open bottle of wine. He pained for another, however he grabbed the cork and pushed it back in place, stopping himself.
He then began rolling his shoulder, testing the pain and regretting instantly as it flared up with vengeance. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as his right hand massaged gently at the healing skin, it easing the tightness of his muscles.
Athos was not a praying man, always allowing that stuff to Aramis and never himself. However, that night as he laid in bed after what felt like a good few hours tracing routes up and easing his aching shoulder, he let himself send a small pray to God for his brother's safe return.
It was anything but a pray in Athos' opinion, a sorry excuse for one that he was sure, if there was a God, He would simply ignore it.
It was worth a shot though, Athos thought as he closed his eyes, the lack of sleep finally catching up on him and sending him to sleep within seconds after closing his eyes.
Aramis and Porthos rode ahead of the small group of musketeers, leading the way to the river where the Spanish should hopefully be camped.
The sun was falling and the limited amount of sleep they both had gotten was slowly catching up to them.
They set up camp and Aramis and Porthos went to scout ahead. They got to the river a few minutes later, crawling up the steep banking to look down below, seeing their informative was right about the Spanish camp. They laid down on the banking on their stomachs to limit the chance of the two of them being seen.
"We're not attacking them when they're asleep Porthos," Aramis warned, memories of Savoy flickering through his mind. He took a breath to control his emotions, reminding himself that he wasn't there. This wasn't Savoy.
Porthos glanced over at him, sensing his friend's tension. He studied Aramis, seeing his expression as he watched the Spanish camp. He could only imagine what Aramis was thinking; only imagine the images of Savoy running through his friend's mind that was bringing such pain to his face.
"They're the enemy Aramis," Porthos tried to reason with the man, however he knew it was a losing battle.
"So were we," Aramis said, not even giving Porthos a glance in his direction.
"Fine, then we wait until the morning," Porthos simply replied and Aramis took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment before looking at his friend. "Besides, the musketeers need some rest... And so do we," Porthos then added. It may have sounded like an excuse but they both knew they needed the break, better to attack the Spanish at full strength then deprived of sleep.
"Good," Aramis simply said before looking back at the camp, most of the Spaniards having gone to sleep now. They laid there for a while, both studying the camp and the Spanish's watch patterns.
"You think one of them will know where the Captain's camp is? Or at least which way they were heading?" Porthos then asked, thoughts of D'artagnan taking over.
"We'll find out soon enough," Aramis said, wondering where D'artagnan was and what the Spanish Captain was doing to him. "He's strong," he then said, knowing Porthos was fearing for their missing brother. "He can handle himself," to which Porthos hummed in agreement.
"I just hope his mouth doesn't get him into trouble," the larger musketeer said and Aramis let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly.
"We all know that it will," Aramis said and Porthos smirked at the man's words, knowing D'artagnan would run his mouth no matter how threatening the Spanish Captain was.
Aramis then leant backwards to be able to clap Porthos on the back, both softly smiling at each other and forcing down the pain they felt for D'artagnan.
"We better get going," Aramis then said before crawling down the banking backwards, Porthos following close behind.
"How are you?" Porthos then asked as they walked slowly back to their small camp. Aramis glanced over at his friend, a small frown on his face to why Porthos would be asking him such a thing.
"Tired, hungry, in need of a good night's rest, missing Paris, missing D'artagnan, missing my bed, the drink and the women," Aramis listed off and Porthos shook his head, a small smile appearing on his lips. "But other than that, I'm just brilliant. Why do you ask?" Aramis questioned.
"Because I care," Porthos said and Aramis glanced up at him, a soft smile curving his lips. He leant over, throwing his arm over Porthos' shoulder to pull the man tightly to his side as they walked. Porthos returned the side hug, the smile on his lips not flattening.
It was a simple and small gesture but it spoke a thousand words between them, each knowing the other was there for them.
Constance walked down the stairs of the garrison, two recruits following her as she listed off orders to them. They both listened intensely before nodding when they got the bottoms of the stairs, rushing off to carry out their duties.
She paused for a moment, taking in the garrison and sighing slightly.
It wasn't the same. The absence of the musketeers lingered over the garrison like a dark cloud. Trainee recruits sparred within the middle of the yard, trying to prove to themselves that they would make it as musketeers.
She glanced over to the entrance to see Sylvie come walking in, hair pulled back into a half ponytail and a soft smile on her face which always made Constance relax. She returned the smile as her friend walked over, her eyes scanning Constance's face.
"How are you feeling?" Constance asked as Sylvie came to a stop in front of her.
"Good actually, better than normal anyway," she said and Constance nodded. Sylvie looked at the other woman, studying her face and smiling softly at her. "What about you?" She then asked, seeing the tiredness in Constance's eyes and how the war, even though it wasn't in Paris, still managed to take its toll on them.
"I'm fine. The boys are getting frustrated though, feeling like they're useless here," Constance said and Sylvie glanced over at the recruits sparring. Their swords met before one pushed backwards, a swing of his sword coming close to his opponent's side.
"They're not musketeers, not yet anyway. There's nothing more they can do except help out within the garrison and keep the peace in the streets," Sylvie said, looking back over at Constance who simply sighed. "Anyway, I came to ask if the garrison could spare some supplies. We're running low and the people are starting to get scared they won't be able to feed their families. Plus with the added impact of the war..." Sylvie wondered off, looking pleadingly at Constance who smiled softly at her.
"I'm sure we can figure something out," Constance said, a hand coming to touch Sylvie's arm to reassure her.
"Thank you Constance, you have a kind heart," she said and Constance shook her head slightly, smiling softly.
"Anything we can do to help the people," she said and Sylvie couldn't put into words how much she appreciated the help.
Sylvie had grown fond of the other woman, seeing her kind nature but also her strength. She admired how Constance could run the garrison without breaking a sweat, especially in these times of war.
"Madame D'artagnan," a man spoke up from the gates, walking over to the two women. "A letter came for you earlier this morning," the man said, holding out the letter to which she took.
"Thank you," she said and the man nodded before turning to leave.
"That's Athos' hand," Sylvie said, noticing his scribbled but delicate writing in a heartbeat. Constance suddenly felt her heart drop, hoping it had been D'artagnan who had written to her. She began to dread the worst as she glanced up at Sylvie. Feeling the woman's fear, Sylvie moved to stand next to her, sliding an arm around her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.
Constance ripped open the seal and straightened out the letter, scanning the page to see it was half written in Athos' hand and half in Aramis'. She began to read, Sylvie silently reading over her shoulder. She felt her friends arm tighten around her as she read the words.
...and I'm terribly sorry that this has happened to him. It pains me to write this letter Constance, it truly does, but I assure you that we will find him and return him home safely to you...
She let out a shaky breath, one hand coming to cover her mouth as she continued reading, the writing suddenly changing into Aramis'.
Sylvie felt the sting of the words, suddenly feeling for both Constance and the musketeers. She rubbed her hand up and down Constance's arm, showing her friend that she was there for her.
"I need to sit down," Constance suddenly said after finishing the letter. Sylvie nodded, quickly guiding Constance to the table and sitting down next to her.
She stayed silent, studying Constance as the woman gripped the letter tightly. She lifted her hand and took Constance's in hers, squeezing gently to ease the woman's grip of the paper. Constance let out a shaky breath, blinking back the tears and swallowing thickly.
"I know you probably don't need to hear this but he will be fine... Athos and the others will find him," Sylvie said and Constance only nodded, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.
Her heart was breaking and the only thing she could do was sit and wait. Wait for another letter to say if D'artagnan had been saved or killed. She had dreaded that she would get a letter to tell her that D'artagnan had been killed at war, it keeping her up most nights while he was away. But she had never thought of him becoming a prisoner of war, it never crossing her mind, not even once. However, now she had the letter in her hands, she couldn't believe how she hadn't thought of it before.
A prisoner of war.
She let her head drop and her free hand came to rub her face, trying to control her emotions. Sylvie simply squeezed her other hand once again, reminding her that she wasn't alone. Constance then looked back up at her friend and their eyes met. Sylvie gave her a soft smile, her thumb running gently over Constance's knuckles to try and calm her.
"He's going to be ok," Constance said, however the tone of her voice betrayed her words.
Sorry for the small wait for this chapter, the story is slowly coming along. Thank you for the followers, the favourites and the reviews, it's good to know you guys are liking this story. Please leave a review with your thoughts on this chapter, hope Constance and Sylvie weren't too ooc :)