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“Leave me,” Athos ordered, not for the first time, and, not for the first time, d’Artagnan pretended he hadn’t said anything at all.
“Aramis and Porthos will have realized something’s wrong, by now,” he mused aloud. He shifted a bit and peered over the bushes they were hidden behind. “The road seems to be clear. They shouldn’t have any trouble finding us.”
“All the more reason for you to go on ahead and meet them,” Athos urged. He tried to prop himself upright, but let out a hiss of air through his clenched teeth as his leg turned from dull agony to blinding pain.
“Don’t move,” d’Artagnan ordered—again, not for the first time. Athos let out a groan born from both frustration and pain.
“The bandits know I am injured,” he snapped. “They are coming back with reinforcements, and they will kill both of us when they find us.”
“Porthos and Aramis will find us soon,” d’Artagnan said. Athos would have slapped him upside the head if he could have reached.
“You’re a fool,” he said unkindly, “if you think we’re not about to be slaughtered. Your best chance is to leave me here and—”
“Stop!” d’Artagnan snapped. “I’m not leaving you here with a broken leg!”
“If you don’t leave then I’ll kill you myself,” Athos threatened. D’Artagnan made a face.
“Has anyone ever told you how unpleasant you are when you’re injured?”
Athos growled and glared up at the darkening canopy of trees. As far as days went, this one would go down in his records as one of the worst. He and d’Artagnan were given a run of the mill diplomatic assignment, only to be ambushed by a masked group who were clearly set on dissuading them. Athos managed to end up in the river with a shattered leg. D’Artagnan dragged him out, and it was only by some miracle that Athos didn’t scream and give away their location while his friend hauled him through the woods. How d’Artagnan made it through the fray of attackers unscathed was another miracle in itself. Athos narrowed his eyes and scanned his young friend up and down.
“You’re hurt,” he accused, a bit too triumphantly. D’Artagnan looked away from the road to give him an innocent look.
“Hm?”
“You’re sitting hunched over, and your breathing is shallow,” Athos said. “You’ve injured your ribs.”
“ I didn’t injure them,” d’Artagnan grumbled. “The injuring happened to them. And I’ll live. It’s not like I—” he broke off and looked back at the road.
“It’s not like you have a shattered leg,” Athos finished. “You can still walk, so do so before it’s too late.”
“Why are you so set on trying to make me leave you to die?” d’Artagnan muttered.
“I am not. I’m going to die here, and I don’t want you to die with me.”
“Well, I don’t want you to die at all,” d’Artagnan snapped petulantly.
“I don’t care what you want!”
“Then I don’t care what you want!”
They glared at each other for a minute before mutually huffing and turning away.
“I’m going to start a fire,” d’Artagnan announced.
“Good, that will lead them right to us,” Athos shot back.
“Fine. We’ll freeze, then.”
Athos huffed and bit he teeth together hard against the rolling waves of pain that weren’t quite strong enough to wash away the waves of sour guilt. Even through his haze of agony he could see d’Artagnan shivering. Athos himself wasn’t cold, which he wasn’t sure was a good sign. He let out a hiss of a breath.
“Fine, start the fire,” he relented. D’Artagnan hesitated, and Athos made an effort to soften his tone. “It won’t lead them to us. It was the pain talking.” I’m sorry hung in the air, but Athos couldn’t bring himself to say it. He was afraid that if he started apologizing, he’d never stop. I’m sorry for getting you into this mess. I’m sorry that you’ll have to leave me to die. I’m sorry that you’ll blame yourself. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
——
The fire was a welcome relief as the night cooled, and Athos soon found his eyes closing, despite the pain in his leg. It wasn’t long before he was asleep.
He had a strange dream. He was surrounded by blinding, clear light as far as the eye could see, as bright as the sun; and yet, he didn’t need to squint to see clearly. His brother stood in front of him with a warm smile. The sight of him made Athos want to cry—at least, it would have, if he hadn’t felt an overwhelming sense of peace instead.
“You’re early,” Thomas said. Athos didn’t know what it was he was early for. He took a few steps forward, but Thomas stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“You’ll have time, soon enough,” his brother said. “You’re still needed down there.”
Down where, Athos wanted to ask. His question was answered as his eyes drifted downwards to a peculiar sight. Two men, crowded around a fire in a dark forest. The older one lay on the ground, twitching in his sleep. The younger one sat as near to the fire as he could get, shivering and straining his neck to look down the road every now and then. They almost seemed familiar to Athos.
“It’s not to late yet,” Thomas said. “But if you stay…”
The scene changed, only slightly, but enough. The young man was now crouched over the unmoving body of the older one, shaking him desperately. His pleas rose up and pierced Athos’ ears. They might have pierced his heart, if he could have felt anything, but even through the serenity in his chest, Athos knew a strong sense of responsibility.
“Will you go?” Thomas asked, his hand still on Athos’ chest. “The choice is yours.”
The young man slumped forward over the body in defeat and began to weep.
“I will go,” Athos said. The words rang through the bright abyss and sounded strange to his ears. There was a pressure on his chest as Thomas began to push him, and he began to sink down to the scene below.
“Good. Then this will not come to pass, and it will be many years before I see you again. Sleep well, brother.”
——
Athos blinked awake slowly, his dream lingering for only a moment or two before fading away. His pain returned in a slow ebb and flow, and he groaned as he turned his head to the side. D’Artagnan, not shivering quite as much anymore, still watched the road like a hawk. The sky was dark.
“Have you seen anyone?” Athos asked, and his friend jumped at the sound.
“You’re awake,” d’Artagnan said, relief bleeding into his words.
“So it would seem.”
“I—you looked as if you stopped breathing, for a minute. I—” d’Artagnan broke off, and Athos got the strange feeling that the younger man’s tremors weren’t just from the cold. “No sign of anyone, yet. I don’t think they’re coming back. We just need to hold out until we’re found.”
“Which could be a day or so,” Athos replied wearily. “Our best chance is for you to go down the road and find help of any kind.”
D’Artagnan was quiet for a few minutes, and Athos thought he was ignoring him again.
“What happened to all for one?” he asked eventually. He sounded just as weary as Athos. “Would you leave me here, were our roles reversed? Am I to abandon you when you would not do the same to me?”
Athos sighed and physically felt the fight leave his body.
“No,” he said softly. “But I don’t share your optimism, and I would much rather die knowing that you had a chance to survive. Seeing you killed in front of me when I am powerless to prevent it… it would be more than I could bear, even if it was only a matter of seconds before I followed.”
D’Artagnan stilled, but he didn’t look away from the road.
“Porthos and Aramis will be here any minute,” he said. In the firelight, Athos saw a glimmer of unshed tears gathered in his eyes. “And you’ll be fine .”
A strange sight flashed through Athos’ mind: an image of d’Artagnan shaking his limp body, heart wrenching pleas dropping from his mouth. Just as quickly as it came, it was gone, leaving Athos with a strange sense of peace and resignation of living. He reached out a hand that d’Artagnan readily took.
“Alright,” Athos agreed quietly. “I’ll be fine.”
——
“Athos.”
A hand shook him roughly, pulling him back into the world of pain.
“Athos, wake up.”
“I’m awake,” Athos grumped. He could barely make out the shape of d’Artagnan against the moonlight. The fire was gone. He didn’t know if it had gone out or if it had been put out.
“There’s a pair of horses coming down the road. I’m going to see who it is. Don’t move.”
Panic propelled Athos upright as d’Artagnan scrambled away.
“D’Artagnan!” he hissed after his friend, but the younger man was already gone. He’s going to die, was all that Athos’ mind would permit him to think. He could see d’Artagnan’s body lying dead in the middle of the road in his mind’s eye. Shot, stabbed, beaten—it didn’t matter how. Killing a king’s musketeer was an honorable accomplishment to highwaymen.
He ignored the searing pain in his leg and dragged himself over to the bushes that d’Artagnan had been posted at for the past few hours. He could just make out the road and the sight of d’Artagnan crouching off to the side. Two horses and their riders drew closer, and d’Artagnan straightened up and hailed them. Athos was almost sick. He’s going to die, he’s going to die, he’s—
“D’Artagnan!”
Athos let his head fall with a strangled sob of relief as the familiar voices of his friends began to fill the air. D’Artagnan’s legs gave out under him and he fell to his knees in the middle of the road. Aramis and Porthos were off of their horses in the blink of an eye. Overlapping words buzzed through the air, and Athos saw d’Artagnan gesturing towards the woods where he was hidden. Porthos set off, and with Aramis’ help, d’Artagnan stood, and they both followed close behind. Athos let himself sag into the dirt. His eyes slipped shut against his will, even as the voices neared.
“I told you not to move,” was the last thing he heard.
——
Athos woke sharply with an intake of breath that made him wonder if he had been breathing at all in his sleep. Instead of the dark outline of trees he was expecting to see, he was met with the sight of a familiar ceiling.
“Welcome back,” Aramis said. “You’ll be happy to know that you’ll get to keep your leg.”
“You want to scold me, I can hear it in your voice,” Athos grumbled. He let his eyes close again as Aramis let out a short laugh.
“Well, I haven’t got much to pin on you this time, except for upsetting d’Artagnan with you incessant demands of abandonment.”
“I couldn’t let him die because of me,” Athos murmured. “I couldn’t watch… I wouldn’t have—”
“I know,” Aramis said, his voice taking on a more somber tone. “He does, too.”
“How is he?”
“Fine, besides a few cracked ribs and a bit of a cold, which I would wager makes for a painful combination. I finally convinced him to rest. He’ll be sore that he missed you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Athos grumbled. “He’ll have plenty of time to see me.”
Bright, clear light. A face that was blurred, but still familiar. Peace. “You’re early.” “I will go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Athos repeated under his breath. “Not yet.”