A/N: This story is for the challenge that is up in the forum. You have to pick up dictionary, open it and place your finger on random word. I go the word grief - keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.

So this is what my mind came up. I even don't know where it came. Maybe it's the weather, usually in my country this time of the year there's snow on the ground. But right know it's raining and everything is soggy.

My thanks goes to lilgenious for betaing.

Here is the story, read, enjoy and reviews are much appreciated.

How it all happened, he did not know. Everything was changed, everything was lost. Who was he? He didn't know anymore, he was alone, in this cold, empty world.

Just two days ago they had laughed, talked and planned. D'Artagnan had persuaded them all to join him, in visiting his parents when they were all on leave. He had been so happy to finally introduce them to his parents. Porthos had enquired about the beauty of the Gascony women, Aramis had already started of making list about the churches. Athos had just wanted to meet the parents and enjoy the peace of the countryside away from the war.

And now he was alone. He remembered the words his mother once told him, so many years ago, "Alone you came to this world and alone you once leave it."

Under the siege of La Rochelle d'Artagnan, Porthos and Aramis died. There had been a sharp shooter on the walls, he had killed them, leaving Athos to live this world alone.

Athos had tried everything to save them. He had dragged them one by one away from the battle field. But it was all vain; he had seen how their souls left their earthly bodies.

Now he stood before their graves. He had asked M. de Treville to go and ask the King to let his friends be buried in the nearby church yard. He didn't want them to be buried in a big hole with the others who had fallen. Louis had agreed at once, he considered d'Artagnan as his friend, and that meant Porthos and Aramis were also his friends.

Many had gathered to this burial; The King, M. de Treville and even the Cardinal, musketeers and guardsmen, many friends and just as much enemies. They had all come to send away and say their good-byes to three men who had become legends. Every young musketeer had known who they were. They respected them, they wanted to be them and now they were gone.

There was no gloating pleasure in the Cardinal eyes, there was only sorrow and sadness; he had lost three of his most worthy adversaries.

When the first drops of dirt landed on d'Artagnan's coffin, Athos couldn't take it anymore. He turned around and left. There was one place he had to be, to fulfil a promise he had given a year ago.

When he reached his horse he stopped, "Planchet, what are you doing here?"

"I'm going with you, master." The Valet guided his own horse and d'Artagnan's horse Buttercup, beside his master's.

"No, you are not." Athos mounted his horse.

"Yes I am. Monsieur Athos, you are the only one I have left." Athos looked at his servant; Planchet had lost last spring his sister to winter fever and now his other three masters. The lad was right. Athos really was the only one who the valet had left. He relented and nodded to Planchet to come along.

For a week they rode, like the devil was after them, when they reached to the taverns by the road, they let the horses to rest and spend the night. Athos drank and drank, so he could forget. But it didn't help, his friends haunted him at night, they were always with him, beside him, never left. Nothing helped.

Exactly one week after the burial, Athos reached his destination. It was just like the boy had described it: peaceful.

He rode into the yard of the old farm house, he noticed that there was a man standing outside and when the dog barked a woman came out of the house.

"Monsieur and Madam d'Artagnan?" Athos asked when he dismounted.

"Yes," M. D'Artagnan stepped closer.

"My name is Athos," here heard a gasp from Mme. D'Artagnan, she already understood before he said his grim message.

"I regrettably inform you that your son d'Artagnan fell under the siege of La Rochelle." Athos didn't know how to say it; it all came out so formally.

"No!" d'Artagnan's mother collapsed, tears were running down her face, she had just lost her only son. Her husband caught her before she hit the ground.

Athos was left there standing, watching the grieving parents. He knew the feeling of losing a child at least he thought he did, d'Artagnan had been like a son to him.

Planchet rode into the yard, he had fallen behind. He had given his master the space he needed so much.

Mme. D'Artagnan raised her eyes form her husband's chest, "Buttercup!" She ran to the horse and held on to the mare for her dear life.

"D'Artagnan once told me, that if something should happen to him, he wished that Buttercup was returned here." Athos said.

"Thank you," Mme. D'Artagnan whispered, she stepped away from the horse, "please come inside."

"No, Madame, I came here as the bearer of grave news, I can't stay." Athos just wanted to be left alone.

"That's foolish talk, come inside, tell us what happened. And you and your valet are staying for the night." M. D'artagnan persuaded.

"Alright, I just have to take care of my horse." Athos relented

"There is no need, master, I will do it myself." Planchet had already taken rains of all three horses.

"Thank you, Planchet," Athos said when he followed the boy's parents to the house. He didn't remember when he had last said those words to the valet.

In the house he told to the d'Artagnans what had happen strangely he left out, that Porthos and Aramis had died in the same attack as the boy. Maybe something inside him hadn't jet accepted that all his friends were dead?

At the end of the evening he remembered what he brought back with him, "Planchet, where did you put my things?"

"In your room, master, I will get them." Planchet rose from the table, Mme. D'Artagnan insisted, that he sit at the table like a guest, to her Planchet was a friend of his son.

"Thank you." Again those two words, if his friends would know. Porthos would laugh at him and say he was soft. Aramis would smile his gently smile, he would understand. D'Artagnan would grin and say that he was rubbing off on him; the boy was the one who hadn't been as mean to the valet as the rest of them.

"Here you go master." He put the thing nearby bench.

Athos took a sword, "This belonged to your son. I thought you would like to have it." He gave it to d'Artagnan sr.

"Thank you, that was very thoughtful of you." The man took it and held it like it was the most precious thing in his life.

D'Artagnan's mother had tears in her eyes again, she wanted to say something but words died on her lips. She stepped next her husband and dragged her finger over handle. She could see the trite places where her son's fingers had held on to the handle.

She turned to Athos again and then her eyes fell onto the musketeers things. "You have two more swords there, who do they belong?"

Athos gulped, "They belonged to Porthos and Aramis."

"What happened?" but Mme. D'Artagnan didn't need to ask, Athos saw in her eyes, that she already knew.

"They died the same time as d'Artagnan." When he said that, he felt how his chest tightened.

"You poor soul, you have lost everyone." The grief, which Athos had locked in, finally fought its way out. Mme. D'Artagnan's words had hit home. Tears escaped, he was crying like he had never before.

"I should have died together with Porthos and Aramis, not d'Artagnan," his voice was stifled by sobs, "What am I talking about? None of them should be dead, not them. If someone shouldn't have lived then it should have been me. They had so much to see, to feel, to be." That moment Mme. D'Artagnan embraced him, held him like a mother. How Athos wished that his mother would be there, she always knew how to comfort her son. But she was gone many years ago, as was Athos' father, he really had lost everyone.

Athos kept crying for hours, even when his father's words reminded themselves to him, "Women weep for the dead; never men." He cried until there were no more tears. Only the pain and grief remained.

He stayed on the farm for five more days, five more nights. At day he helped out with work. At eve he told the d'Artagnans about the adventures he had with his friends. And at night he cried, grieving for his fallen companions.

On the dawn of sixth day, he stepped out of the house and he knew what he had to do.

He turned to d'Artagnan's father and handed him Porthos' and Aramis swords, "Would you, please, keep them safe for me?"

The man was flabbergasted, when he looked at the swords that were offered to him, "It would be my greatest honour." He took the swords.

Athos nodded, he didn't have words to say. He mounted, waved his hand for good bye and galloped away. He could hear good luck and Godspeed yelled after him, but he couldn't answer, god had left him a long time ago.

He knew what he had to do. Somehow he had to get rid of Planchet, maybe send him ahead to look for a good place to spend the night. Then he could go and find that deep creek, the one that d'Artagnan had once told him about, that could be his final resting place. No one would find him there.

At that thought he felt a hand on his shoulder, but there was nobody there. Planchet was few paces behind him. As the hand was lifted, he remembered his words to d'Artagnan few months ago when they needed to find equipment: "As I, too good a Catholic to kill myself with a pistol bullet..." (1) this time Athos really knew what he had to do.

He looked behind him where Planchet was gaining, "Come on, Planchet, to La Rochelle, I have a duty to perform."

Two months later, his corpse was found on the battle field, a bullet through his heart. Inside his coat pocket was a letter addressed to Planchet. When M. de Treville handed it to the valet, the later almost couldn't keep his tears back. Planchet made quick way back to the tent of his late master. As he sat on the cot and opened the letter he let the tears fall.

Planchet,

If you are reading this, it means I am probably dead. If I'm not then you'll have a lot of hell to pay for rummaging through my coat pockets.

Planchet had to smile through tears; even in his last message his master hadn't lost his humour.

Please take my sword to Gascony and give it to M. d'Artagnan so that our four swords can rest in peace together. Go talk to M. de Treville and let him ask from the King permission to bury me beside Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan.

The last wish I have for you is actually an order, when you are in Gascony ask M. d'Artagnan, if he could give you a job. They are good people, in this letter there's a recommendation letter for you. It was the least I could do for you. You were a remarkable valet.

Athos.

In the church yard near La Rochelle, stand four headstones, time and weather had made their mark. Those who could remember and tend the graves had already gone. Wildflowers grew on the graves of the men, who were once the highest respected in the Kingdom. Now their graves stand forgotten.

A/N: (1) actual quote is: "We have still fifteen days before us," said he to his friends. "well, if at the end of a fortnight I have found nothing, or rather if nothing has come to find me, as I, too good a Catholic to kill myself with a pistol bullet, I will seek a good quarrel with four of his Eminence's Guards or with eight Englishmen, and I will fight until one of them has killed me, which, considering the number, cannot fail to happen. It will then be said of me that I died for the king; so that I shall have performed my duty without the expense of an outfit."

You can find it in the book in the chapter "Hunting For The Equipments"