His brothers, all surrounding him with blood covering their uniforms and skin. Groans escaped their lips, Duval laying on his side and gripping his stomach as he doubled over in pain. Philippes stared at him, eyes wide in horror and mouth open slightly as he shook in pain.
D'artagnan stood within the middle of them, all too young to die this way. His breathing hitched as the smell of blood over whelmed him, causing his stomach to twist and sick to rise up in his throat.
Suddenly, laughter echoed around him, ringing loud in his ears and making him wince violently. The Spanish Captain then suddenly stood before him, a grin spreading across his face and causing a shiver to make its way down D'artagnan's spine.
His breath caught in his throat as the laughter from the Captain washed over him, drowning him in fear.
"D'artagnan," a distance voice called out and D'artagnan tried to turn to it, sensing the familiarity of it but not managing to pin who it was.
He was met with his three brothers and he crumbled to the ground from the sight of their blood covered faces. He was on his hands and knees, begging for it to stop. The pain, the torment, the agony he was in from seeing the dying looks of his brothers around him. Before he could sink deeper into this nightmare and slip away forever, he was shook violently.
"D'artagnan, snap out of it!" The voice said and D'artagnan's eyes flew open, his breathing heavy as he gasp for air. His ribs suddenly protested against him, causing him to cry out as the pain finally washed over him.
"D'artagnan?" A different voice then asked, this time much softer as if they were trying not to scare him. He blinked back his blurring vision to focus on the concerned eyes of Duval, who was leaning over him with his tied hands gently on D'artagnan's shoulder.
"You with us?" He asked and D'artagnan just blinked up at him. "I'll take that as a yes," he then mumbled before leaning back on his heels with a sigh of relief.
"You were having a nightmare," Beaumont spoke up from where he sat crossed legged on the other side of D'artagnan, twisting his wrists against the rope and causing his skin to burn in protest. "Callling out our names and thrashing violently," he informed D'artagnan who still couldn't get his breathing stable, his heart hammering hard against his ribs.
He was shining with sweat, his clothes sticking uncomfortable to him where he laid staring blankly up at the morning sky. He tried to shake his mind from the nightmare, however it was still too fresh, everything seeming a little too real.
Duval glanced across at Beaumont in concern before looking over towards the Spanish soldiers. Most were still asleep, only a few of them having woken up when D'artagnan started mumbling in his sleep.
Antonio was sat by the dying fire, eyes watching the three of them as the sun was slowly beginning to rise up ahead and indicating morning was upon them.
D'artagnan groaned, allowing his eyes to close as tiredness caught up with him. He regretted not getting enough sleep last night, however he didn't want sleep that was plagued with nightmares. He tried sitting up but only let out a cry in pain before falling back down to the ground in a huff.
"Take it easy," Duval warned, looking back over at D'artagnan and placing his bounded hands on the man's shoulder. "We'll help you sit up but you have to take it easy," Duval said and Beaumont hummed, still twisting his hands to loosen the rope around his wrists.
"I can't tell if your ribs are broken or just bruised from the beating you took last night, but it doesn't look good either way," Beaumont said and D'artagnan blinked his eyes up to look at the man.
Any other time D'artagnan would have seen Aramis staring down at him, a soft smile on his face as he began tending to his injuries. Porthos would be sat inches away, a hand on his shoulder or holding D'artagnan's hand in his own. Athos would be stood, arms crossed and watching the scene carefully with concern in his eyes.
However his brothers weren't here, he wasn't laying in bed after a brawl with the Red Guards in the local tavern with his brothers patching him up. He was laying in the middle of a forest, a brother laying dead near his feet and the enemy only a few metres away.
"Come on, let's get you up," Duval then said, his hands slipping from D'artagnan's shoulder to cup under his arm. Beaumont mirrored his actions and they slowly lifted D'artagnan up from the ground, the lead musketeer wincing and groaning in pain.
It took him a few minutes when he was sat up to allow the dizziness to slowly ease from him, his whole world spinning around him. He took in a shaky breath before blinking his eyes back open having closed him in the process of sitting up. He lifted his hands awkwardly to press his right forearm against his right side, hoping to squeeze the pain from his ribs away to only cause it to multiple.
"W-we... We have to... Bury him," D'artagnan breathed, his voice horse and he swallowed, his throat saw and burning for a drink of water. Duval and Beaumont followed their leaders eyes to see him staring at Philippes' now cold and stiff body.
They all held back tears for their fallen brother, the sight of him laying there having plagued all their dreams last night.
"How?" Another musketeer, Lamar, spoke up from behind them and D'artagnan didn't even have the effort to twist his head to look at the man. "The Spanish aren't going to let us bury him, he's just going to lie there and rot," Lamar grumbled and D'artagnan tensed, the words taking a hit against him.
"Hey, shut the hell up before I make you," Beaumont warned, glaring back at the man as he felt D'artagnan stiffen from Lamar's words.
Lamar went to reply, fully intent on going on the attack before D'artagnan let out a sigh.
"Don't," he said, mustering up all the energy he had to turn his head to look back at the young musketeer. "The last thing we want to do is start arguing, we need to stay strong," D'artagnan said. He knew the rest of them were getting anxious, with tiredness from walking and minimal sleep catching up with them. Plus the impact of limited food and water only added to their already starved bodies.
Lamar seemed to back down slightly, not daring to go up against D'artagnan out of respect for his injuries and also for his leadership. They had all silently agreed to make D'artagnan the Captain of their small group and being a musketeer you always followed your Captain's orders no matter what they were.
The sound of movement cause D'artagnan to turn his head back around to see Antonio stride through the camp, sword by his side and already dressed in his leathers. He didn't even give the prisoners a glance their way, simply walking around the camp to wake his men.
"We leave in five, get up and ready," he ordered and his men quickly stumbled to a stand. Antonio then glanced over at D'artagnan with a smug smile on his lips. It made D'artagnan want to be sick, his anger towards the man rising to a new level.
"Can you walk?" Duval then asked, drawing D'artagnan's attention away from the Spanish Captain.
"Yes," he said with such force that Duval didn't question him. However, Beaumont did.
The musketeer let out a huffed laugh, causing both Duval and D'artagnan to look over at him.
"What?" He questioned them as if it was obvious to why he had laughed. "You honestly expect me to believe that you can walk, you can't even sit up without our help," Beaumont said and Duval glared across at the other musketeer as D'artagnan stayed quiet. He knew Beaumont was right, the effort it took to sit up already had D'artagnan wishing for sleep. "And don't even try to deny it," Beaumont then added and D'artagnan let a small smile appear on his lips.
"I wasn't going to," he simply said and Beaumont leant back slightly, looking at D'artagnan with a small frown having expected the injured man to go up against him.
He truly was tired, his determination to prove himself fit slowly drifting from him. His ribs throbbed in pain and D'artagnan began to dread the time that they were told to start moving again. He wished for his bed, he wished for food and water, a roof over his head instead of waking up to the sky. He wished for Constance, his heart aching for her and his brothers.
"Then how do you expect us to continue moving if D'artagnan can't even stand?" Duval asked, pulling D'artagnan from his thoughts and causing him to glance up at his two comrades.
"I don't know, I don't have the answer to everything," Beaumont said with a simple shrug.
"It sure seems that way," Lamar grumbled from behind once again.
"I don't appreciate your comment," Beaumont said and D'artagnan gave him a look.
"Stop arguing before I make Duval knock you both out," he warned with a stern look he knew would remind them all of Athos.
"I'll gladly do it," Duval said with a small smirk and they all suddenly laughed.
For a second, they had all forgotten where they were, thinking that they were back in the garrison and joking around.
However, once D'artagnan winced in pain from laughing they all settled back down, the smiles dropping quickly from their faces. Antonio ordered them to move, his men climbing onto their horses as the musketeer slowly pulled their aching bodies to stand.
"You ready?" Duval asked, both Beaumont's and his hands coming to hold D'artagnan's arms. The musketeer gave a quick and sharp nod, closing his eyes and readying himself for the pain he was about to be in.
"Okay, up we go," Beaumont said and they both gently began to help D'artagnan stand.
It took longer than they would have liked, D'artagnan grunting in pain with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. However they finally got him to stand, holding onto to him as he swayed slightly.
D'artagnan felt himself slipping, the darkness of unconsciousness seeming to appeal to him more than the long walk ahead of them.
However, he took a deep breath, allowing the dizziness to settle before blinking his eyes open.
"Let's go!" Antonio shouted at them and Beaumont sent a glare towards the Captain, however he bit down on the words he wanted to shout back at the man.
"Let's go," D'artagnan repeated, his voice much softer than Antonio's. Duval and Beaumont stayed close next to him, both of them glancing towards D'artagnan with concerned eyes just waiting for him to pass out.
However he didn't, gritting his teeth in determination as he focused on placing one foot in front of the other. He wasn't going to give in, he wasn't going to back down to Antonio even if it killed him.
Everyone stopped when shouting sounded from the entrance to the garrison, all turning around to see what was happening.
They was met with two musketeers, carrying one of the recruits in the middle of them, his arms slung over their shoulders and his head fallen to his chest. His feet were dragging along the floor, leaving a track along the mud. Blood dripped down from his chin, dripping onto the ground as he let out a groan.
"What happened?" Elodie asked, placing the basket of food she had been taking to one of the ration stations onto the table.
"Red guards happened," Brujon said, holding up the injured musketeer.
A few other musketeers came running over to help as Constance came down the stairs, Sylvie two steps behind.
"Get him to the medical room," Constance ordered and two other musketeers picked up Édouard's legs to take the pressure off his arms. They gently placed him on the bed, Édouard letting out a grunt in pain.
"Who did this?" Constance asked as Sylvie ordered Brujon to go get the doctor.
"Do you even have to ask?" Bernard said, crouching down next to the bed and brushing back Édouard's long hair to reveal the damage caused to his face. His nose was broken and lip busted, blood dripping down his chin and neck.
"Marcheaux's going to pay for this," one of the recruits said from the door and Constance glanced back at him.
"We'll deal with that later," she said before moving to get a bowl of water and a cloth. She sat down on the bed, Bernard helping her clean up his bloody face.
"His ribs took a beating," Bernard said and Constance looked up at him, eyes locking for a brief second before they both looked down at his shirt.
She moved to lift Édouard's shirt up and grimaced when she saw the bruises running along his chest. She saw Bernard ball his fists up in anger, growling in frustration as he stood up to pace.
"I'll kill him," Bernard grumbled.
"Like I said," Constance said, gently cleaning the grit from a cut along Édouard's cheek. "We'll deal with him later, we need to focus on Édouard first," she said and footsteps sounded from outside, Sylvie walking in with the doctor close behind her.
They exited the room, leaving the doctor to tend to Édouard's injuries.
Elodie leant against the wooden beam while Sylvie paced in front of her, fingers over her mouth as she thought. Sylvie sighed, running a hand through her hair and turning to face Constance and Elodie.
"What's the plan?" She then asked and Constance pushed up from the wall, walking over to stand next to Elodie.
"I don't know yet," Constance replied and Elodie glanced at her.
"We can't let Marcheaux think he can get away with this," Elodie said, glancing towards Sylvie who had began pacing once again. "If we don't do something there will be fights between the two regiments," she added and Constance simply hummed, glancing to where Bernard was stood protectively by the medical room waiting for the doctor to finish with Édouard.
"I know," Constance said, looking back at Eldoie as Sylvie paused, turning to face her friends. "And we will."
Long chapter for the long wait. Thank you all so much for the reviews, the follows and the favourites, hope it wasn't too bad waiting for this chapter. Leave a review, if you want :)