D'artagnan found himself floating, feeling as if his body was laying on a bed of air. The pain had stopped and the heat, the fire, had died down, allowing him some dreamless sleep.
However, that had only lasted for a short while, nightmares slowly crawling their way back into his mind and plaguing his dreams.
Flashing memories of Philippes, wide eyed and mouth open with blood spattered across the ground where he lay, staring back at D'artagnan and not moving an inch.
The image caused his breath to hitch and his eyes to snap open, confused when they settled on the canvas ceiling of a tent and not the morning sky.
Where was he?
He felt stiff with his muscle aching, yet it wasn't because he had been walking all day but because he hadn't moved at all.
A stream of light was streaking through the gap in the tent's entrance to softly lighten up his surroundings.
He guessed it was coming on early morning, soft snores sounding from his right indicated people were still asleep.
He then realised he was laying in a bed, plump pillows behind his head and a warm blanket draped over him. His heart fluttered slightly, his foggy mind trying to make sense of the situation.
"Morning," a voice said from his left, causing D'artagnan to flinch.
He let a soft groan escape his lips, briefly closing his eyes before slowly tilting his head to the side. It was still throbbing, however the pain was numb like a distant sort of pain not yet catching up with him.
He blinked as his eyes readjusted to the light again, finding Athos sat upright in his bed, a map splayed out on the bed sheets in front of him with a small frown on his face as he studied them.
"Mor-" he tried to say but his voice cracked, his throat dying for a drink of water. It felt like knives were running all down his throat, scratching at him as he tried to swallow.
"Here," Athos said, turning to stand and grabbing his cup from the bedside table next to him. He leaned over D'artagnan, slowly lifting the younger musketeer's head up to press the brim of the cup against his lips.
He drank greedily, the water clenching a thirst that D'artagnan didn't have time to register before.
"Take it easy," Athos warned before removing to cup and placing it on the floor next to D'artagnan's bed.
He lowered D'artagnan's head back down onto the pillows before turning to sit on the edge of the Gascon's bed.
"How are you feeling?" He asked and D'artagnan blinked at the Captain, trying to register how he actual felt.
"Disorientated," he mumbled, lifting his head up slightly to view his surroundings, still wondering whether this was a dream or reality.
Athos must have sensed D'artagnan's discomfort.
"You're back in the French camp, in our tent. You're safe here, Porthos and Aramis are asleep next to you," Athos informed him and D'artagnan looked to his right to see that, indeed, Porthos and Aramis were fast asleep.
"What about... What about the others? And Antonio, what happened to him?" D'artagnan then asked, his voice cracking and his mind slipping to see Duval crumble to the ground after getting hit back in the Spanish camp.
"Antonio is with the rest of the prisoners and the musketeers are all here, getting rest," Athos said and D'artagnan nodded before he thought of Athos' words.
"Not all," D'artagnan replied, the memories of what happened to his brother flashing before his eyes.
Suddenly, his heart picked up as he remembered him, Philippes was still lying their on the ground, eyes open and mouth agape.
"Philippes, I need to... I need to go," D'artagnan then said, struggling to sit up and causing a wince of pain to corse through his body.
"Easy," Athos warned, placing a hand on D'artagnan's shoulder and pressing the musketeer back down to the pillows that propped him up slightly to ease the pressure on his ribs. "We found him and buried him," Athos said and D'artagnan's breath caught in his throat, tears stinging his eyes as he relived the terrible moment, the death hitting him like a sword cutting across his chest.
He squeezed his eyes shut in hopes to rid his mind of the memory, however it only seemed to drag him further into the depth of fear.
"D'artagnan?" Athos asked, his voice bringing D'artagnan back to reality as the Captain's hand squeezed his shoulder, grounding him. "I'm sorry," Athos then said and D'artagnan turned his head to frown at him.
"It's not your fault," he mumbled and Athos dropped his hand from his brother's shoulders, looking away and being unable to look the younger musketeer in the eyes.
"If we hadn't have found you all, I don't know what would have become of us..." Athos wondered off, glancing up at Porthos before his eyes settled on Aramis. The medic had somehow managed to slump while he slept to lay on his side, arms dangling over the left side of the bed along with his head. Athos would always wondered how the man could sleep in such awkward positions, even when injured.
A gentle squeeze of his hand brought Athos' attention back to D'artagnan who was watching him.
"Thank you," he said, the truest look of gratitude shining from his eyes. Athos simply took a breath, allowing the air to fill his lungs and steady his heart. "I don't know what would have happened to us if you hadn't of come when you did," D'artagnan said before glancing up at the tent ceiling.
"For a second you doubted us, thought we wouldn't make it to you," Athos said and D'artagnan took a breath. "It was in your eyes," he added, knowing D'artagnan was wondering how he knew.
"It was awful Athos..." D'artagnan began. "Antonio didn't care for those French soldiers, showed them no mercy... A-And Philippes. It's my fault he died and I could have stopped it; Antonio wanted me not him," D'artagnan said before quickly blinking back the tears. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly to calm himself.
"He died for his country, died protecting the crown," Athos reminded him and D'artagnan looked down.
"No Athos... He just died," D'artagnan mumbled. "I understand now how hard it is to be Captain, how hard it is to watch over your men and then to have one of them die..." D'artagnan wondered off and his words made Athos pause, looking at his struggling brother with a blank expression but with a million thoughts running through his head.
"War changes people, D'artagnan," Athos began, watching the Gascon carefully. "Sometimes... there are things that happen in war that we cannot unsee, things that happen which are out of our control to stop or change. I know you did everything you could have done to save those men and stop any suffering from happening to them. However, you can not undo what has happened... Philippes' death is not on your hands and neither are those soldiers. Being Captain does mean taking responsibility for things that happen whether it be in the streets of Paris or out in the battle field, but... not this," Athos warned, staring down at D'artagnan to drill it into him that he shouldn't blame himself. "You need to remember that. I need you to remember that, since I will not allow you to beat yourself up over something that wasn't your fault... something that you couldn't have possibly predicted or stopped," he said and D'artagnan finally titled his head to look at Athos, seeing the pain that shone behind his eyes.
D'artagnan simply took a shaky breath in, allowing time for Athos' words to sink in and to be processed.
"They put so much faith in me," D'artagnan stated, wanting to get everything off his chest but feeling it was just too raw to talk openly about it just yet.
"Part of being a Captain," Athos simply said. He squeezed D'artagnan's hand before standing, moving over to his bed and scooping up the maps.
"I sent a letter out to Treville this morning as well as to Constance and each family of the musketeers who were taken," Athos informed D'artagnan to change the conversation as he moved over to the table, spreading the maps out on top of a map of Spain. "She'll get it by sundown," he then added and D'artagnan let a small smile appear on his lips.
With the thought of Constance on his mind, he allowed himself some more rest.
The next time D'artagnan woke he was met with the eyes of Beaumont staring down at him.
His heart fluttered and his mind pulled him back to the Spanish camp, laying on the cold hard ground after a restless night sleep. The thought consumed him and he couldn't pull himself out of it.
"D'artagnan, you're safe. You're in the French camp," Aramis said, Beaumont's face suddenly being replaced by Aramis who looked down at him with concern in his eyes.
He had seen the fear that had taken over D'artagnan's features and the way his brother had gone suddenly stiff.
D'artagnan took a steadying breath before nodding, allowing his heart time to settle back down.
"How you feeling?" Beaumont asked from where he sat in the chair next to his bed.
"Better... but still aching," D'artagnan added and Aramis smiled down at him.
"Well then, let's get you sat up. It'll help with easing the pressure on your ribs," the medic said and D'artagnan simply nodded before Beaumont and Aramis slowly lifted him up to sit, arms holding him up to stop him from falling back.
He let out the breath he had been holding once he was sat up straight and not swaying from the dizziness.
He felt less trapped now that he was sat and could see his surroundings.
Athos and Porthos where at the table, food on the plates in front of them while discussing the successful ambush on the Spanish supply route. They had looked over once D'artagnan was sat up straight, the conversation falling short as they watched.
"Ready to stand?" Aramis asked, his palm pressed against D'artagnan's back to stop him from falling backwards to the bed.
D'artagnan nodded in determination, gritting his teeth and preparing for the battle he was about to face.
He slowly swung his legs over the bed with a lot of effort, trying to control his breathing to not aggravate his ribs even more.
Beaumont moved around to Aramis' side of the bed to take D'artagnan's hand, Aramis holding the Gascon's arm with one hand while his other stayed on D'artagnan's back.
"On three," Aramis said before counting up. D'artagnan took a deep breath before pushing himself up to stand, hand gripping Beaumont's hand tightly as he tried to squeeze the pain away.
Once stood he let himself sway slightly, knowing Aramis and Beaumont would catch him if he fell too far.
After his world stopped spinning, he began to walk towards the table, eyeing up the food on Porthos' plate.
With every step his ribs protested madly against him, aching and throbbing for the movement to stop. When he finally got to the table he slowly, with the help of his two brothers, lowered himself down to sit opposite Porthos and next to Athos. Aramis sat down to his left while Beaumont moved to sit on the other side of the table.
Without even thinking D'artagnan leaned over, ignoring the discomfort it caused his ribs and grabbed the fresh meat and bread from Porthos' plate.
"Hey," Porthos warned with a glare aimed towards the younger musketeer but had no actual hatred behind it.
"I'm injured," he simply stated through a mouthful of much needed food.
"It still doesn't give you the right to steal a man's food," Porthos warned but didn't make a move to steal the food back. D'artagnan grinned at the man sat across from him before taking another bite of the bread, his stomach thankful it was finally getting a decent meal.
"Not too much," Aramis warned. "You've been starved of food, your body won't be able to cope with the sudden amount," he said in his medical voice, watching D'artagnan carefully.
Athos picked his cup up and handed it to D'artagnan without even looking up from the supply sheet he was studying in front of him. D'artagnan took it with a thanks before downing the water back to wash away the mouthful of bread and meat.
"I feel fighting fit already," D'artagnan then said and Beaumont rolled his eyes.
"You can't even stand without nearly passing out," he said and D'artagnan gave him a small smirk before looking down at the supply sheet Athos was going over.
The tent flap interrupted them and Thomas walked in. He nodded a greeting to them before directing his gaze to Athos.
"Captain, the General would like to see you. He says it's important," Thomas said and Athos nodded before rising. "Oh and this came for you," he added, moving forward and holding out a letter. Athos took it and noticed Treville's seal in a heartbeat.
He ripped it open and scanned the content, a small smile formed on his lips before he dropped the letter to the table.
"We might be heading home sooner than you think gentlemen," he said and they all frowned, Aramis leaning forward to pick up the letter.
Athos turned to follow Thomas out of the tent, leaving his brothers to read the letter of how Treville and the Queen were currently trying to organise a peace treaty with Spain.
As he walked, his mind raced with reasons why the General would want to see him with such importance. When he got to the General's tent he found out the worse was what he got, however it was a slightly different version to what he was thinking off.
A telling off was something Athos did definitely not appreciate.
Slightly longer chapter, hope you guys liked it especially the conversation between Athos and D'artagnan. It took me sometime to get it right. Thank you ever so much for the reviews, the follows and the favourites, it nice to know you guys are still liking this story :)