Disclaimer – Thank You BBC for such an inspiring series.

This multi chapter story is dedicated to Raouldefraser, Subrosa 7 and Nonny A for their kind support and enormous encouragement. Set between 1.8 and 1.9

Prologue

D'Artagnan was not sure exactly what to expect. They had left him alone in a small room with only a table and chair for company, neither of which he could use, bound as he was hand and foot, whilst things were being "made ready". He sat against the wall and wondered, with an unfamiliar edge of despair, how things could have possibly come to this? When the three men finally came for him he could not read their expressions, silhouetted as they were against the bright sunlight. But he could see in their stance and the way they kept their hands on their weapons that they had every intention of following their orders.

"Up."

With his hands tied behind him and his legs shackled by a short length of rope, his struggled to gain his feet. Muscles stiff from sitting on the cold ground were slow to co-operate and he staggered like a new born colt. The men watched impassively and made no move to help him. Once he was upright a contemptuous push on his shoulder almost sent him toppling again as he was herded towards the door.

The small courtyard was close to deserted. Only a handful of men stood around. Some averted their gaze as he passed. Others spat at his feet. A few called out caustic comments that made his ears burn.

"Gascon dog."

"No more than you deserve you arrogant little whelp."

He was brought to stand between two of the pillars. The point of a main gauche pressed into the back of his neck, pinning him in place. He felt hot and cold as fear seized his heart and his body broke into a cold sweat. The ropes binding his hands were cut and each arm pulled almost out of its socket as he was made secure, muscles stretched tight across his shoulders as he strove to span the distance between the two posts. A hard kick moved his feet apart as they were tethered in their turn. The ropes bit viciously into his flesh as they were tugged sharply to ensure they would hold fast.

God help me, they fully intend to see this through.

D'Artagnan felt the bitter taste of bile rise in his throat as the main gauche swept decisively downwards, cutting through the thin material of his shirt as his back was stripped bare. The three men stepped back and he was left helpless and exposed. D'Artagnan was too proud to beg. But that didn't stop the mantra running in his head. Don't do this. Please don't do this. He clamped his jaw tightly shut, in case the words should escape and shame him even more.

"You have brought disgrace to the regiment." A hard voice hissed in his ear. "Let this be a lesson to you."

D'Artagnan bowed his head to hide the sting of tears in his eyes at the shame of it all. He remembered how proud he had felt receiving his commission. The fond smiles of Aramis and Porthos as they had somehow procured the insignia out of nowhere, its handsomely tooled chestnut leather a perfect match for the jacket he usually worse. He had later discovered that his friends had it made some time earlier and been keeping it close, confident that it was only a matter of time before the King rewarded his loyalty.

D'Artagnan had been moved beyond words that Athos had been the one to step up and fasten it to his arm. The man had been patience itself tutoring him in swordplay and honing his temperament. D'Artagnan may not have liked all the "lessons" but having fought Lebarge he could appreciate that they had been necessary and had almost certainly saved his life. He owed Athos more than he could ever repay and his approval, that firm clap on his shoulder, had meant the world to him.

"Argh."

The cry was ripped from his throat as the first lash of the whip landed across his shoulders without mercy. D'Artagnan threw his head back as he tried to deal with the pain. His back already felt as if it was on fire. Still, he strove to swallow his agony, not willing to give his audience any further reason to doubt his character. He would bear this well if it killed him.

In his mind's eye he remembered another gathering, when every man in the regiment had assembled to welcome him into their fold. The joy he had felt at finally achieving his heartfelt ambition to become a Musketeer, his determination to serve King and country with honour, his vow that he would control his headstrong nature to be a good solider and make his friends proud.

"You are a disappointment to me." Athos shook his head.

Those words had cut sharper than any whip. The look of reproach in Athos' eyes more than he could bear. Worse, d'Artagnan knew they had been no more than his actions deserved. As the whip landed for a second time, the smell of his own sweat mixed with the tang of blood in the air. D'Artagnan could see all too clearly the all things he could have done differently. The choices he should have made. Until there was only one thought left in his head.

Athos would blame himself for this and d'Artagnan found that pain the most unbearable of all.

tbc ..