D'artagnan grunted in pain, his grip on Tomás' blade, which was pointed directly down at his chest, was slipping. His gloves were slowly losing the battle with the sword as the sharp edges dug into the leather, slicing D'artagnan's palms and causing them to sting with pain.

He laid on his back, having let Tomás get the upper hand for a brief second and the man having snatched it instantly. He swore at himself for letting it happen, knowing he should have been better. Athos was his teacher after all, and now he had foolishly let the man get the better of him.

Head over heart, Athos' voice said calmly in his mind. Focus.

Tomás stood over him, pressing his weight down on the sword in hopes to piece it through D'artagnan's chest. The tip was slowly inching its way further towards D'artagnan's chest.

Think, how was he going to get out of this.

"No-one is going to save you," Tomás snarled and D'artagnan could see the hatred boiling within Tomás eyes towards him.

If no-one was coming to save him, then he would save himself. His eyes shot a glance towards his sword that laid inches away from him, in arms reach but currently he had no hands free to grab it.

"I'll get my men to dump your body at the entrance to the garrison, might do it myself... That will truly destroy the musketeers," Tomás said as he pressed down harder on his sword, causing the tip to brush against D'artagnan's shirt and then skin, drawing blood.

D'artagnan's breathing hitched as he faced death yet again. He had never been scared of dying; always knowing being a musketeer was a risky job and knew death followed them all. He had just always hoped it was in his old age with the woman he loved or on the battlefield in war, fighting for his country with his brothers, not in the middle of a forest by a man from his past.

However, he was not willing to accept death just yet, not willing to allow death to take him so easily.

He was going to fight.

His mind raced with ways he could get out of this, nearly all ending with him dying. He needed his sword.

"Everything Athos suffered through was for nothing, I want you to know that before you die," Tomás told him and D'artagnan locked eyes with the man for a second. Tomás had the confidence to smirk down at him, which seemed to push D'artagnan's determination to survive further.

God dammit he wasn't going to die, Athos would be angry with him for dying before he could kill D'artagnan himself for going off without them.

He glanced towards his sword again, eyeing up the protection it gave him. He needed his sword. So, he made a quick judgement and a painful one at that.

With all his effort he pushed Tomás' sword to the left ever so slightly that the tip was brushing over his shoulder before letting go.

The sword pieced forceful through his skin and muscle, causing him to cry out in pain and squeeze his eyes shut tightly.

However, he had no time to waste. He quickly grabbed his sword from the right, twisting it around effortlessly and thrusting it towards Tomás' with all the strength he had left.

The sword went through Tomás' side, piecing his lungs and causing him to gasp. Blood suddenly splatter from the man's month, landing on D'artagnan's face and clothes. The musketeer grimaced before quickly withdrawing his sword, causing Tomás to fall to the ground next to him dead.

D'artagnan dropped his sword to the ground before gripping Tomás' blade and pulling it from his shoulder.

He bit the inside of his cheek, tears forming in his eyes from the pain.

Tomás' sword fell down next to his own, landing with a heavy crash before he used his now free right hand to press down on the bleeding wound.

God that hurt.

He heard footsteps behind him and the angry cry of Tomás' men as they came running out of the mill.

D'artagnan took a breath as he readied himself for what was about to come.

He could fight, and he would, but the odds were awfully against him winning.

He rolled onto his stomach with all the effort he could muster, grabbing the pistol from Tomás' belt. Ten men, he could do this.

He aimed and fired, hitting his mark before throwing the pistol to the side and fumbling to grab his own backup knife from his boot.

The tip of a sword pressed against his neck stop him in his tracks. He glanced up to see the blonde breaded man glaring down at him, sword held tightly in his hand.

"I'd kill you but... Sadly, you're just too valuable," the blonde said, a grin forming on his lips.

Two men came next to D'artagnan and hauled him up to stand. He couldn't help but cry out in pain, biting down on his lip to stop himself from crying out. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, a wave of dizziness washing over him.

He managed to regain his balance before his hands were tied behind him with rope and he was pushed towards the mill.

Once inside he was pushed forward, causing him to stumble forward and thus lose his footing. He landed harsh on his side, groaning as the pain coursed through his body.

Athos had worst, D'artagnan thought to himself before pushing himself up to kneel.

The blonde man, who D'artagnan had heard someone call him Nicolás, suddenly stepped forward and slammed a kick into D'artagnan's ribs.

He fell down in a second, landing harsh on the ground and squeezing his eyes shut. He swallowed down the pain, telling himself to stay calm.

He could do this.

Sorry about the long wait for this chapter and that it is a short one. Next chapter will be longer and updated sooner. Thank you all for the reviews, I love hearing what you think :)