D'artagnan was sure he had passed out at some point, because one second he was walking between his two brothers and the next he was practically being carried by them, tied arms looped around Duval's neck while Beaumont tried to hold up D'artagnan's over side.
He made no effort in lifting his head up from where it hung low, he instead tried to make his legs work again. They eventually picked up to walk with Duval, his feet stumbling slightly but it took some of his dead weight off of his brother.
"You back with the living?" Beaumont asked and D'artagnan simply groaned, blinking his eyes open finally.
Duval titled his head to glance across at the injured man, impressed with how determined D'artagnan was to stay awake. He had been pretty sure their leader would have been out for the whole journey, however here he was, awake again and trying to take most of his weight back.
"How long?" D'artagnan asked and Lamar glanced up at the sky, the sun slowly beginning to disappear behind the trees.
"You passed out at around two, I'd say it was getting close to evening now," he informed them from behind, where he walked with the others.
"We have to be stopping soon," Duval said, glancing towards the Captain who rode ahead of the group of Spaniards.
"I'm not carrying him again if he passes out," Beaumont stated, rolling his aching shoulders. He had literally just passed D'artagnan on to Duval when he suddenly decided to wake up.
"You won't need to," D'artagnan grumbled, slowly removing his arms from around Duval's neck. Granted he still needed their support holding him up by the arms. However, he managed to stay on his own two feet and hold most of his weight without swaying sideways.
"You're the most determined person I have ever met," Beaumont stated with a small smirk.
"I've heard that before," D'artagnan said as he remembered Athos saying that to him when training.
D'artagnan had been put through his paces throughout the years of being a musketeer, but in those first few weeks of training, Athos had worn him out and stripped him down. However, he got back up after ever hit, rolled his shoulders and readied himself for Athos' next attack.
The memory brought a small smile to his lips which soon flattened when Antonio slowed his horse down.
"There it is gentleman," he said as they finally came to a stop at the entrance of a large clearing with a river running alongside the left of the camp. It was a prefect set up, the river protecting them from one side with the trees and a banking on the other allowing areas to scout down the path for any intruders coming their way. "The main camp, the end of the line," Antonio said aloud for the prisoners benefits. It was like he was trying to dishearten them even more, to keep digging away at the last few shreds of hope the musketeers had left.
He turned on his horse to look back at D'artagnan who simply mustered up enough energy to glare at the man, knowing his brothers around him were doing the same.
"You shouldn't look so angry my friends," Antonio said before climbing down from his horse; one of the younger Spaniard's at the camp came running over to take his horse from him. "We're putting you in a tent to sleep in and going to bring you all water, possibly some food. Can't have you dying from starvation now, can we," he said, coming to stop in front of D'artagnan and the other two. He glanced at Duval and then at Beaumont before his eyes finally settled on D'artagnan who was almost shaking with rage towards the man.
"Rather die of starvation then have to listen to you," D'artagnan grumbled and Antonio simply laugh, merely waving at D'artagnan's comment before turning, gesturing to a few of his men.
"Move," one of them said as Antonio walked off into the busy camp, looking for the General. "Now!" The blonde man then snapped, pushing Remey in the shoulder and forcing him forwards.
"Alright alright, we're going," he said before walking, following after one of the Spaniard's towards a tent on the outskirts of the camp. The solider opened the flap and walked in after the musketeer's, two other guards following.
It was just a tent, no beds or tables. Nothing. Just the structure of a tent over hard ground.
A few moments later two Spanish soldiers walked in, one dropping a plate of bread and cheese onto the ground, the bread rolling onto the dust covered earth. The other dropped two water skins next to the plate before moving to stand outside and keep watch, while two stayed within the tent.
Lamar was the first to reach out to the plate, crouching down to pick the bread up and dust it off. Duval ignored the food, his main focus being D'artagnan, the leader having slowly started falling forwards where he stood.
D'artagnan winced as Duval forced him down to sit on the ground, leaning him up against one of the poles that supported the tent.
"How you feeling?" Duval asked and D'artagnan simply kept his eyes closed, humming a weak response.
"Here," Beaumont's voice came from the left of him and D'artagnan opened one eye to see the other man holding out a water skin. D'artagnan lifted his hands up to take the water, gulping it down greedily before forcing himself to pull it away. He regretted doing it, wanting nothing more than to drink it all but knew he had to save some for his brothers.
"We need to plan a way out of this," D'artagnan then said after wiping his mouth and handing Duval the water skin. He kept his voice low so only Duval and Beaumont could hear him, the guards stood by the entrance oblivious to what D'artagnan was planning.
"I thought you said you had faith in Athos?" Beaumont questioned with a raised eyebrow and a small smirk as Duval took a drink of water.
"And I still do," D'artagnan said, his voice strong even in his weak state. "But I don't know how long it'll be before Antonio finally snaps," he said as Duval passed the water skin back to Beaumont.
"So what do you have in mind then?" Duval asked, glancing back at the guards before turning fully to face D'artagnan.
"We need to assess the situation of the camp; how many guards do they have? When do they change shifts? What's the number of Spaniard soldiers actually here within the camp?" D'artagnan began, focusing his racing mind and taking up his leadership role within their small group. "Until we can see what's happening out there, there is no way we can get out of here alive," he said and Duval and Beaumont both nodded in response.
Their conversation was interrupted by Lamar handing them some bread to share.
"God I can't wait to get back to the French camp and eat proper food," Beaumont grumbled as he picked at his small portion of bread, eating it though but still managing to complain.
Duval just hummed in agreement, settling down next to D'artagnan and watching the guards through narrowed eyes.
"We'll get out of this," Duval then said and by the force of his words, both D'artagnan and Beaumont believed him.
Once again the three musketeers stumbled upon something they wished they hadn't. Another bloody scene however there were less bodies, only one this time.
Athos' breath hitched as he noticed the uniform and he felt his heart beat increase dramatically as his mind thought of all the names of his men. He swung a leg over his horse, abandoning the reins and simply running over to the musketeer that laid on his side.
When he got there he stumbled to a holt, the blood that splattered across the ground and the slow smell of rotting flesh reaching his nose. He grimaced at the sight, the musketeer being shot in the head. He crouched down, a shaking hand gripping the man's shoulder before rolling him over.
"Philippes," he said loud enough so his brothers, who were running up behind him, could hear. "They shot him in the head," Athos said.
"Bastards," Porthos grumbled, his hands balling up into tight fists, straining the leather of his gloves.
Aramis just stood there in silence, watching as Athos closed Philippes' eyes to grant him rest. He did a mental pray, cursing himself slightly when he felt a small wave of relief rush over when Athos had said who it was.
A loss is a loss, a life had been taken once again by the Spanish and Aramis couldn't help feeling slightly relieved it wasn't D'artagnan.
His heart ached for Philippes, the boy had shown courage in training back at the garrison, always being eager to learn. He had taught the boy some of his shooting skills and had always seen how he listened to his every word.
He removed his hat from his head and placed it against his chest, eyes closing briefly to morn his brothers passing.
They were back on the road within the hour, Aramis and Porthos leading the way with Athos trailing behind the two of them.
They all were slumped slightly in their saddles, all heavy hearted and feeling the weight of the world on their shoulders.
"What if..." Porthos suddenly began but felt too guilty to continue his words. Aramis glanced across at the larger musketeer, the hand on his reins moving to grip his cross. "What if, you know, when we get there the Captain's already..." Porthos wondered off and Aramis took in a breath, knowing what his friend was trying to say.
Athos ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the knots as he overheard the conversation in front. He let out a breath before lowering his arm back down to grip the horses reins.
"I know it's a worrying thought Porthos," Athos began, finally speaking after what felt like ages, having fallen into silence with worry for his missing brothers a few hours ago. "And it's a possibility, but I know D'artagnan and the others will have fought until their last breath if that was to happen," Athos said and Porthos swallowed hard, trying to force down his tears. "Which it won't," Athos then added and both his brothers looked back at him. "D'artagnan's too damn determined and stubborn to let that happen," Athos said, the side of his lips curling up into a slight smile. The others returned it, letting out a shaky laugh before they fell silent, glancing forward again and at the path ahead.
"The boy is pretty determined," Aramis began a few moments later. "Remember when he strode into the garrison that day," he said, a fond smile forming on his face. "And nearly killed Athos with his excellent sword skills," Aramis teased, turning his head to glance at Athos with a slight hint of sarcasm laced within his voice.
"I was going easy on him," Athos simply said, giving Aramis a look that caused Porthos to chuckle.
"How on earth he thought he could take on the best swordsman in the regiment I have no idea," Porthos spoke up and the three chuckled, Athos shaking his head slightly.
He remembered seeing the determination set in D'artagnan's eyes, the potential he had to grow to be one of the best.
"His temper nearly got him killed that day," Athos said.
"I distinctly remembering you saying that we weren't going to kill him," Aramis said, turning back to look at Athos, who simply shrugged, kicking his horse to move in between Aramis and Porthos.
"Let's go get our brothers back shall we," Athos then said and the two nodded, jaws set in determination before they kicked their horses into a gallop.
Another chapter and the boys are slowly catching up with D'artagnan and the others. Thank you very much for the follows, favourites and the reviews, I always love reading them. Tell me what you thought of this chapter :)