Authors note: Thanks again for all the comments. This is the prequel to 'Hypothermia'.
Chapter Twenty Four - Drowning
Athos
Stumbling backwards had not been the plan, Athos inexplicably thought as he fell. Stumbling backwards into a cold river was very much not part of the plan. And yet that was exactly what he had done.
A scream of his name from one of his brothers as he fell the last thing he knew before he hit the water. Disorientated, he spent those first few seconds desperately trying not to gasp as the cold water soaked him. He could not gasp. If he gasped he would die. He would drown.
Athos created a mantra; 'do not breath'. He was underwater, he had to break the surface, then he could gasp in shock, but not before. The breath, when he allowed it, was deep. The water reclaimed him for a few more seconds before he could keep his head up.
The river was wide, and deep, and fast flowing. Somehow he managed to miss the rocks, the water swirling him passed out of reach. He might have hit one and been badly injured or he might have hit one and been able to grab onto it, stopping his unwelcome journey.
There was no chance of swimming. His clothes were too restrictive. If he could have done he would have shed his weapons belt to prevent it from dragging him down again.
Buffeted around he tried to look for his brothers. The fight had been all but over, surely one or more of them would be chasing after him. Aramis knew the area, he would know of places where he could be pulled out.
Athos chuckled, actually chuckled, he knew, that he would be saved, there was no chance they would let him die. Not like this. He was destined to die on the battlefield as any good soldier should.
If not the battlefield, he would die old and grey. He would not die after a group of bandits had decided that Musketeers were worth robbing.
It was cold as he was twisted around on the currents. His fingers were already stiff, he could not open and close his hands. Odd that he should worry about such things when his whole life was in danger.
There was no sign of the others. His brothers had not been able to keep up with him. Was there to be no rescue?
His hurtled movement through the water slowed slightly. Did his foot drag on the bottom of the river? Again his foot hit the bottom, he tried to dig his heels in but could not; the water still too fast. But the river bed seemed to be coming up to meet him. The river was getting shallower.
He managed to twist over, he had not really thought about the position he was in, he had been floating along on his back. Now that he had turned over he realised the river was not quite the torrent it had been.
But he could do nothing to help himself. Turning had worn him out, he was too cold, he could not even attempt to swim. In the now shallow water, he could probably stand. Probably. But he would not find out, he was too weak. He would continue to float along, unable to stop himself. He would drown. He was going to die, not on the battlefield or old and grey. He was going to die, cold and exhausted after a pointless affray with a group of bandits.
Athos sent up a silent apology to his brothers for failing to keep himself alive for them.
The End.
Authors note: remember this is a prequel to 'Hypothermia' I've not just killed him off!