They rode along the muddy path, seeing a mixture of horse and human tracks. Athos kept his eyes forward, following the tracks as they trotted through the forest. Porthos rode to his right side while Aramis rode behind, the marksman glancing around the forest.
They all seemed to be riding with a little less tension in their shoulders. They knew their brother was out there, staying strong and fighting back against the Spanish. D'artagnan was alive and so were the others they had lost. The three of them were going to find them all, it wasn't a matter of if, it was a matter of when.
"Wait," Porthos mumbled so quietly that Athos wasn't sure if the larger musketeer had spoken. However, looking across at Porthos he saw the look of horror slowly form on his face. Athos turned to look ahead and his eyes landed immediately on what Porthos had seen.
For a second Athos was sure it was them, their missing brothers all murdered for them to stumble upon. However, once he strained his eyes he caught sight of their uniforms; they were French Soldiers, not Musketeers.
He allowed a wave of relief to wash him before guilt took over, disgusted in himself that he was relieved. Good men were dead.
Athos and Porthos glanced worryingly at each other as Aramis finally caught up with them, pulling his horse to a stop behind the two of them.
"What's wro-?" He asked but fell short, eyes landing on what his two brothers had seen. His breath hitched as he scanned the scene in front of them.
Aramis suddenly jumped down from his horse, ignoring the pain it caused him, and walked over to the men laying dead on the ground, blood covering their uniforms.
His whole world seemed to spin, pictures of Savoy flashing before him. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind but it only ended with him feeling even dizzier.
"Aramis?" He heard someone ask from a distance away, their voice fading as he stared down at one of the soldiers. The man's eyes were still open, staring blankly at nothing with his mouth open slightly.
"Aramis," the same voice asked again and he flinched as a hand came to rest on his shoulder, trying to drag him back from the past.
Suddenly Aramis turned and empty the content of his stomach, wrenching violently as the hand slipped to run circles on his back.
"Take it easy," Porthos said after Aramis had stopped, the man letting out a shaky breath. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the knots roughly. He then straightened, causing Porthos' hand to drop from his back.
He swallowed hard before his eyes landed back on the soldier, unable to take his eyes away from him. He suddenly felt anger grip him as he remembered seeing his brothers all dead, Marsac crying next to him after dragging him in the snow away from the bloody scene.
"They were all slaughtered! All of them! Just left for dead!" Aramis suddenly shouted, everything feeling a little too much like Savoy. He pushed the memories back as his heart pounded hard against his ribs.
He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. All he could do was stare down at the bodies that laid helpless on the ground.
Suddenly a strong hand landed on his shoulder, twisting him around before he was pulled into a tight embrace.
Aramis focused on Porthos' strong hold on him, it was the only thing keeping him grounded and not slipping back... Back to Savoy.
A cough suddenly sounded and Athos turned, seeing one of the French soldiers eyes flicker open. The Captain quickly crouched down next to the soldier, a hand coming to rest on the man's chest.
"Easy," he mumbled as the soldier tried to move to only wince in pain, letting out a cry. "Easy," he repeated and the man rested his head back against the tree he was leaning against, eyes closing shut.
"What happened here?" Athos then asked softly and the soldier blinked his eyes open to try and focus on Athos.
"T-There were t-too... Too...Too many," he mumbled. "T-they... headed South," he said before coughing, wincing as the cough shook his whole body. Athos was surprised the soldier had managed to stay alive let alone speak, the injury he had sustained causing his shirt to be covered with blood.
"It's alright, you're going to be alright," Athos then said however he doubted his own words. There was too much blood; the wounds too serious to be treated. "Just rest my friend," he said and the soldier simply closed his eyes, leaning his head back before letting out a soft breath.
Athos kept his hand on the man's chest until he felt no movement underneath it, the soldier having finally taken his last breath.
He closed his eyes briefly, morning the passing of the soldier he didn't even know the name of. He then stood, glancing over towards Porthos who still held Aramis. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the knots before letting his arm drop to his side with a heavy sigh.
Clue number two, he thought to himself as he looked around the small camp.
"We bury them," Aramis spoke up and Athos turned to look at him, seeing the medic having pushed his head up from Porthos' chest but not moved out of the embrace.
They didn't argue against Aramis, knowing he wouldn't take no for an answer. Athos and Porthos took to moving the bodies, telling Aramis they would do it all. However, the stubborn and injured man ignored them.
"Aramis," Porthos said after placing one of the soldiers down by the grave Aramis was currently digging. He saw the sweat running down Aramis' forehead and how his actions seemed more sluggish. "Aramis," Porthos then said again, trying to get his brothers attention. However Aramis kept digging, his mind too focused on the task at hand to be aware of his surroundings.
"He's not going to answer you," Athos spoke up before moving to the last soldier in the camp. Porthos glanced back at the Captain and then gave one last look at his hurting brother before following after him.
"We're getting closer," Athos then said as he moved to grab the soldier's upper body.
"How do you know?" Porthos asked as he grabbed the man's legs before they hauled him up. They began carrying to heavy body towards the large grave, moving slowly to not stumble over the tree roots.
"By the soldier. He couldn't have survived long with those injuries," Athos informed him. "It means this happened no earlier than yesterday," he said before they gently lowered the soldier's body next to the others.
"That means we're close to finding D'artagnan and the others," Porthos added and Athos nodded. Before he could respond Aramis let out a cry in pain, slumping forward and gripping his side.
"Aramis!" They both shouted before jumping down into the large grave. Porthos' hand came to rest on Aramis as the man gasped for breath, eyes squeezed shut in pain.
Aramis removed his hand from his side and found it covered in blood. He glanced up at his brothers, Athos growling in frustration.
"You fool, you've pulled the stitches," Athos said, one hand coming to grip the wrist of Aramis' bloody hand while the other went to lift his shirt up. "Get him out," he then ordered when seeing the blood stained bandages.
Porthos obeyed, scooping Aramis up into his arms and climbing out of the grave. He lowered Aramis down against a tree, the marksman letting out a soft grunt as he leaned back. Athos then came to kneel down next to him, Aramis' medical kit in his hands.
"I'm sorry," Aramis mumbled, glancing up at his Captain who simply lifted Aramis' shirt up before pealing back the bandages to study the wound.
"He's fine Porthos," Athos then said, sensing the worry radiating from his brother. "I just need to clean and re-stitch the wound," he told the larger musketeer who seemed to ease at his words. Aramis moved to take the edge of his shirt from Athos and hold it up for him.
While Athos worked at cleaning and stitching the wound up Porthos lowered the eight men into the large grave. He was currently finishing off burying them when Athos pulled the final stitch, leaning back to look at Aramis.
"Stop it. I hate it when you look at me like that," Aramis said, looking away from Porthos and across at Athos, who was giving him one of his stern look.
"I'm not the one who's working myself to death," Athos said, his tone drier than normal. Aramis simply sighed, leaning back to rest his head against the tree and close his eyes.
"I said I was sorry," he mumbled, feeling the guilt take over him as Athos watched him through narrowed eyes. It was then Athos' turn to sigh, leaning back on his heels before pulling himself up to stand.
"It's fine," he grumbled before turning to look at Porthos who had finished burying the men.
He understood why Aramis hadn't stopped, knowing the man's mind was replying the scenes of Savoy and too busy to think about himself. He had told him stop but that had been no use.
After Aramis had found strength and pulled himself up to stand, he said a pray from the fallen soldiers with his hand clasped tightly around his cross.
Porthos stood next to him, a hand resting on Aramis' shoulder to show his brother he was there for him.
Athos stood a few steps behind, his mind rushing with images of the soldiers lying dead in the camp. His mind then slipped to D'artagnan, memories of watching the Gascon get hit and how for a second, Athos had thought it had been them dead on the ground.
He took a deep breath, blinking back tears that had managed to fill his eyes without him knowing.
They needed to find D'artagnan and the others… they needed to find them and find them quick.
So this chapter came out of no where and I hope you guys like it. Thank you for the reviews, they always make me want to get these chapters out quicker. Anyway, leave a review and tell me what you thought of this chapter, next one will be up soon :)