Rings

by elbcw

'Aramis could not withhold a gasp of shock as he reached his friend. He was clearly conscious, although Aramis could not see how. Porthos was gagged, which explained his silence. But the reason for his lack of movement made Aramis feel sick.' This is quite dark and there is torture. Enjoy!

Rings

Aramis searched along the dank corridor. A few flaming torches lit the way. He peered into each barred cell. All were empty. The last cell had a heavy looking wooden door. A small barred window offering the only view inside. He looked in. Porthos was there, against a wall. Aramis guessed he was restrained somehow. He was standing, which was a good sign, he thought.

'Porthos,' he said quietly, not wanting the sound of his voice echoing along the corridor.

Porthos looked over towards the door, Aramis could not make out his expression. His friend remained very still, other than moving his head. It was too dim in the cell to make out how Porthos was restrained.

The key he had liberated from the guard by the door to the dungeon hit the edge of the key hole on his first attempt to push it in. He took his eyes off Porthos and paid proper attention to opening the door. He had a little trouble heaving the door open, the hinges were quite stiff through lack of use. Porthos had been afforded a cell rarely used by the murderous Comte. The thought filled Aramis with worry. Porthos had made no sound and Aramis had heard no movement within the cell.

The door now open, Aramis threw a quick look over his shoulder, even though he was confident he would not be followed by any of the Comte's men, he still felt the urge to check.

The cell was stuffy, stale and warm. There were no windows, the only light that would enter came from the small window in the door. There were brackets on the wall, within the cell, by the door for torches, so light could be introduced if needed.

Porthos still had not moved or spoken. As Aramis approached his friend he struggled to see as it was very dark. He could make out that Porthos was standing against the wall, he was naked.

Aramis could not withhold a gasp of shock as he reached his friend. He was clearly conscious, although Aramis could not see how. Porthos was gagged, which explained his silence. But the reason for his lack of movement made Aramis feel sick.

'Porthos…'

Aramis rushed back out of the room and grabbed the nearest torch, returning as quickly as he could. He lit the tatty torch that had been left on one side of the door then slipped the one he was carrying into the empty bracket on the other side.

He returned to Porthos pulling out a knife as he did so. He quickly cut the rag that was being used to keep the gag in place then pulled the material from his friend's mouth. Porthos tried to swallow a few times but was struggling. Aramis pulled a water skin from the bag that he still had slung over his shoulder, dropping the bag to the floor at the same time. He held the skin up to Porthos' mouth and allowed the man to take a few sips.

'That will do for now,' said Aramis, not wanting to give him too much water in one go, he took the skin away and laid it down on the floor. He stood back up slowly, unable to hide the repulsed look on his face as he took in the state of his friend.

'I can't move…' Porthos said quietly, hoarsely.

Aramis could not reply. He was too choked up with contemplating what his friend must have gone through.

'Please…'

Aramis looked Porthos in the eyes, 'I'll get you out.'

How he was going to free his friend he did not know. The more he saw of the restraints keeping his friend still the more he wanted to rush from the room and never return.

Covering Porthos' body were dozens of metal rings about two inches across. They had been pushed through his skin piercing deeply enough to catch hold. Short chains led from each metal ring to the stone wall. The chains were short enough to afford the big musketeer no movement. The chains were firmly in the wall, there was no chance of removing them.

'How long have you been like this?'

'They put the last one in a few hours ago…if feels like hours...I don't know.'

Aramis had been bent forward examining one of the rings closely. He stood up and stared, incredulously at the musketeer.

'You were conscious when they did this?'

'Yes.'

Aramis shook his head, 'I'm sorry…I,' he paused, took a breath, and steadied himself, 'let's get you out.'

Aramis knew he had to set aside his own shock and try not to think about what Porthos had gone through. He had to concentrate on the present and getting him out of this torturous predicament. If Porthos had been standing still, for several hours, he must be exhausted. But if he moved he would likely rip the metal rings from his skin, causing great pain and worse injuries.

The rings were not complete. There were small gaps in each one, a point on each end. The chains appeared to have been forced onto the rings, they were too firmly on the metal, Aramis could not simply slide the chains off to free his friend from the wall. The man must have been in extreme agony as each ring was pushed in to his skin. Aramis wondered for a moment why Porthos had allowed this to happen. Had he been unconscious Aramis would have understood. But to allow this to be done to him whilst alert…Aramis pushed the question from his mind. That was for later.

Aramis stood straight and looked at his friend, 'I think I can unhook the rings…it will probably hurt whilst I move them…are you ready?'

Porthos did not respond, he followed Aramis' movements with his eyes. Aramis reached up to one of the rings, he picked one on Porthos' right shoulder. He gently lifted the ring and slowly rotated it. Porthos hissed, Aramis paused.

'Keep going…'

Aramis turned the ring enough to bring the small gap round to the flesh of his friend's shoulder. The short chain clinking as it moved. He had to ease the gap in the ring over the pierced skin. Although he tried not to, the sharp point of the ring scratched across the outside of the injury.

'Sorry…I don't know how else to get them off.'

'Keep going…'

Aramis moved down to the next ring on Porthos' arm. He repeated the process. Porthos held his breath as the ring was moved and the point again scratched his skin. The process was repeated again and again. Some of the rings were awkward for Aramis to get at, but he persevered.

There would not be time to clean and dress the wounds as he went, Aramis was conscious that he was working against the clock.

Once Aramis had finished removing the rings from Porthos' arms he grabbed the water skin again and was about to hold it up to Porthos mouth, when the musketeer reached out and tried to take the skin. As he moved his arm Porthos let out a small whimper.

'Careful,' Aramis said keeping hold of the skin and guiding it to Porthos mouth, he allowed his friend a couple of mouthfuls then took it away again. Grabbing Porthos' arm he lowered it back down.

Porthos just looked at Aramis, his eyes were beginning to lose focus, he swayed slightly, Aramis grabbed him. He was not quick enough to prevent the big man from crying out in pain as the movement pulled at the remaining rings that still covered his body and legs.

'You must stay awake, Porthos…'

Aramis held Porthos' shoulders firmly, waiting for his friend to refocus. It took the man a while but he eventually settled and looked at Aramis with clearer eyes. He nodded.

'Get them off me…just get them off.'

Aramis did not need telling twice. He started with the ones on Porthos' right leg. He again, worked his way down turning each ring and gently easing it off. There was an obvious tremor in Porthos' legs now. Aramis knew his friend could not stand for much longer. He was clearly in a lot of pain, and had been through an horrendous experience.

Aramis sped up his actions as much as he could. The rings were not smooth, they were rusty and in places jagged. The particularly rusty ones were quite difficult to turn, the rough bumps catching on the skin of their prisoner. Aramis realised his own fingers were bloody, he had not noticed, he must have caught them on the sharp points of the rings and scratchy surfaces of the rusty ones. He wiped his hands on his trousers and returned to the task.

'Where are the others?'

Aramis looked up at Porthos who was looking down at him. Aramis had knelt by his friend as he was removing the rings from his legs.

'We came en masse, as planned. There was a lot of resistance. Treville ordered me to come and find you. We knew you were down here somewhere…' he paused and looked over towards the door, 'I don't know why no one has come down here yet to look for us, I'd hoped to just release you from a cell, not have to...'

Aramis returned to his task, not wanting to finish the sentence. Somehow, he had forgotten the fierce battle that was taking place above them. So absorbed had he become in the onerous task of helping his friend he had neglected to update him about the events that had led to them finding him.

'They'll be OK,' said Porthos.

Aramis smiled to himself, Porthos was trying to placate him. His friend, who had been through this horrific assault, was concerned about his welfare.

With renewed vigour Aramis returned to his ministrations. He had managed to speed up a bit, he was aware that Porthos must be near collapse, and Aramis did not want that to happen until he had removed the last ring.

Porthos' legs were now free, but the man still could not move. There were several still to remove from the sides of his torso. Aramis was glad that none had been put on his friend's back, it would have been almost impossible to unhook them without causing pain.

He kept working, there were only five more rings to move.

A noise out in the corridor made them both look towards the door. Porthos moved slightly and hissed with pain. Aramis steadied him as he rose.

Quietly Aramis moved to the door, his hand on the butt of his gun, he looked along the corridor. Two men were creeping along. They saw Aramis in the door way and rushed toward him. Aramis stepped out of the stuffy cell pulling his gun as he did so.

MMMM

Porthos watched Aramis disappear through the door. The fact that his friend had been reaching for his gun at the time meant that whatever, or more likely, whoever, had caused the noise was not friendly. The gunshot made him jump. The action pulled at the remaining rings. He knew he was close to passing out, but he also knew that to do so would cause the final few rings to rip from his skin as he collapsed.

The pain had been terrific as the sadistic Comte had put each ring into his skin. The man had put each one in personally. There had been no chance of fighting back, there were too many big men holding him still. He had tried fighting and pulling away, but had not been able to do so.

When they had pinned him to the wall and slipped the chains onto each ring, pinching the chains onto the rings to prevent them slipping off, he had initially tried to pull again. The men had laughed when he cried out in pain as the chains tugged at the rings and consequently his skin. The Comte had stood back, when he had finished, and looked at his prisoner with a satisfied expression.

They had left the cell, closing the door. Other than a few words of warning when he had been captured, none of them had spoken to him. He had no idea why he was subjected to the treatment. He had no idea when they would return. If they would return. All he could hope for was that his friends would find him.

When he had seen Aramis peering in through the small window he had wanted to move, but he could not. He had been still for so long, it was taking all his will power not to collapse. The arrival of his friend, had given him a resurgence of energy, enabling him to remain standing whilst he endured the removal of the rings. He had seen the look of shock and horror on his friends face and was grateful the man had managed to stay as calm as Porthos expected him to.

Now he was listening to a sword fight in the corridor. The sounds of the blades clashing were amplified by the imposing stone walls of the Comte's dungeons. Porthos could not work out how many men were fighting. He doubted that Aramis would have missed his target when he fired the gun, but he did not know how many of the Comte's men had entered the dungeon. A yelp of pain followed by what sounded like a couple of punches was followed by the sound of a body falling to the floor. A few seconds later a second gunshot.

Porthos waited in silence for what felt like minutes but was probably only seconds. He could make out some harsh, gasped breaths then the sound of someone approaching the doorway. He let out a sigh of relief when Aramis appeared. But his relief was short lived, it was obvious the marksman had been injured, he was holding his left side and had been forced to lean heavily against the wall by the door. He looked across as Porthos and smiled.

'I got them both…' he said, 'but not before one of them got me.'

Aramis managed to stumble across to Porthos, who wanted to check on his friend but knew he could not.

'How bad?'

'Bad enough,' said Aramis with unusual candour.

He took his hand away from his side, it was wet with blood. Porthos watched as Aramis knelt by his friend again, wiping the bloody hand on his breeches. He started working another ring free.

'We have to hurry, I'm not sure if we are winning upstairs. We have to get you out of here.'

Aramis was panting and despite the poor light Porthos could tell the man was pale. Porthos wanted to help, he could probably remove the final few rings himself but was worried he would collapse. He had to remain still whilst his injured friend worked.

Another ring was removed, four to go.

Again, they both looked around as crashing was heard outside. Aramis looked up at Porthos.

'Keep going.'

Another ring pulled out, Aramis' hands were shaking with the effort. Porthos could tell the marksman was struggling to remain conscious. More than once he had swayed, dangerously close to collapse. Porthos guessed the only thing keeping Aramis going was the need to rescue him.

The noises continued, Porthos could tell the fighting was in the corridor outside, the noise was deafening after the silence he had been left in.

There were only three rings left, but Porthos doubted they had the time. Aramis had slowed down considerably in his work, his normally dexterous fingers were moving slowly, he was becoming uncoordinated. Porthos was worried that they may need to leave very soon. His fears were confirmed a few seconds later when he heard Athos yelling.

Aramis, looked up at Porthos. Porthos knew what he wanted to do. Porthos knew he did not want to do it, but they were left with no time. Porthos nodded and steeled himself for the pain.

Aramis firmly grabbed the chain attached to one of the rings and yanked at it. Porthos yelled, he could not help it, the ripping of the flesh on his side was more painful than he had imagined it to be. His vision clouded, he was panting hard. But he did not pass out. He reached out his hand to Aramis who grabbed it.

He nodded again and Aramis, with a distressed expression, grabbed the next chain. When the marksman pulled the ring from his friend he squeezed Porthos' hand at the same time. Porthos did not cry out this time, he had been ready for the pain.

He was grateful when Aramis grabbed the final chain and just pulled it out with only a quick glance at his friend for permission.

Finally free of the chains, Porthos sank to his knees. Aramis was by him, weakly trying to pull him up. Something in the back of Porthos' mind told him to get up, to get out. To help Aramis, and himself. There was an urgency, they had to leave, and leave now.

There would be time to collapse later, but now, they both needed to get out. He made the effort, it was difficult but he hauled himself back up. Aramis was holding him. Porthos was holding Aramis. Inwardly Porthos smiled at the laughable nature of the marksman's rescue. His friend probably had a more severe injury than he did.

Together, they stumbled to the door. Looking down the corridor they saw several musketeers holding off a larger group of the Comte's men. Athos looked round and saw the pair, his eyes widened when he took in the state of them. Porthos could not blame him, he was still naked and Aramis was clearly badly injured.

Athos regained his composure and indicated to a door at the end of the corridor, a few feet from where they were standing. As one, the two injured men made their way towards the door, which swung open as they approached. Two musketeers, holding a hefty battering ram moved out of the way.

They managed to make it through the door. Hands grabbing them as they emerged. Porthos felt himself pulled from Aramis' grasp. He knew he was safe and surrendered himself to the darkness that had been threatening him for hours.

MMMM

Aramis opened his eyes slowly. He spent a few moments trying to remember what had happened. He moved very slightly and winced.

'You'll pull the stitches, keep still,' said a familiar voice next to him.

He looked over at Porthos who was sat in a chair close to the bed he was lying on. The big musketeer leaned forward and was about to help Aramis to sit up when Athos' spoke from across the room.

'And you will reopen your own wounds if you overexert yourself,' he said sternly making his way across the infirmary.

Porthos rolled his eyes, but sat back again. Athos gave Porthos a warning stare as he helped Aramis to sit up.

'It took a long time to clean and dress all of your wounds, I do not want to deal with you getting an infection as well.'

Aramis smirked at Porthos who returned the smile.

'What happened?' he asked as Athos poured him some water.

'The Comte had more men than we realised, it took us longer to defeat them. The last few managed to pin some of us on the stairs down to the dungeon. We held them off for as long as possible, to give you time to get Porthos out…I was honestly surprised to see the two of you still there when we were being forced back along the corridor.'

'It took…longer to free him,' Aramis looked at Porthos, 'than I think anyone could have envisioned.'

'And under difficult circumstances,' said Athos, 'I'm not sure how you carried on, didn't you know how badly injured you were. You lost a lot of blood…we were worried you would not make it for a while.'

Aramis frowned, then looked back at Porthos, 'I had a job to do.'

'And I thank you for it,' replied Porthos.

'Rest,' said Athos as he turned to leave, 'both of you.'

Once alone Aramis looked over at Porthos.

'Don't worry, I am fine. It was…difficult…to accept what the Comte did, but he is clearly a madman and madmen cannot always be understood.'

Satisfied that Porthos was on the way to recovery the marksman settled back on his pillow and allowed his eyes to close as the fatigue he had felt for the last few minutes overtook him.

The End

Authors note: I hope you enjoyed it.

Does anyone want to know what was happening before, during and after this?

I have a Fanfic planned that will tell the whole story, I've just got to get it out of my head and written down! (It will include D'Artagnan getting some good whumping!)