Well, I already have writers block for this story. I don't know why. I'm so sorry I didn't update yesterday, I just couldn't make anything up. I hope I made it up by giving you all a crap load of Aramis whump!

Yep, this has turned into Aramis whump. I forgot to tell you that in the beginning, that that is what I was aiming for in this story. I hope you enjoy. I will try to make another update today as well to make up for yesterday. No promises, though.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for all the support you have already given me! It means a lot!

Don't forget to read and review!

-M

"Let her go," he said, this time calmly. "I will not argue no more, just please, let the Queen go … and do whatever you want to me."

Philip grinned. "Very well," he said.

He pushed Anne into the wall, and she gasped when she felt a stinging sensation on her temple and the feeling of blood dripping down her face. She turned around just in time to see Aramis let off the chains. He was taken out of the room, and then she was alone. She sank down against the wall, shivering, both out of fear and cold. In a few minutes, she heard Aramis groaning, and she wondered what it was that Philip was doing to him.

Finally, in what seemed like hours, Aramis was thrown back into the cell. He cried out as he slid against a wall, curling into himself. (Thankfully, nobody chained him.) The door closed with a slam, and Anne instantly rushed over to him, gasping at the injuries that now covered his body.

Knife wounds were all over his chest, some bleeding, some not. There was a long cut going down from his forehead to his neck, slightly shedding blood. But the wound that really caught her eye … was the burn mark on his side.

She gasped. "He branded you," she whispered, reaching down to touch the burn.

Aramis flinched away.

The burn was in the shape of the letter R: Rochefort. It was terrible to look at.

Anne shivered. "Oh, Aramis," she muttered.

He didn't reply.

Anne quickly gathered him onto her lap, wanting to provide at least some comfort. She stroked his hair as he trembled, watching his body twitch every time he felt pain.

But then something struck Aramis. He forced himself to look up and saw the small cut on Anne's face from when Philip pushed her. He reached a shaking hand to touch it. "You … hurt?"

Anne took his hand away, holding it close to her chest. "It does not hurt," she replied. "Just focus on getting some rest."

The injured man shook his head. "Cannot…," he mumbled. "If he … comes b-back…"

"Please, Aramis."

Tears were now falling down Anne's cheeks. She couldn't understand how her lover was caring more about her than himself, even though he was the one who was hurt.

When seeing this, Aramis sat up slowly, wincing in pain. When he felt comfortable enough, he leaned in and kissed Anne on her forehead. "I … will be … alright," he whispered.

The Queen smiled weakly, and then helped him back down on her lap again. He continue to tremble, as if unable to stop. He was just in so much pain … pretty soon, he fell asleep from pure exhaustion. Anne kept her fingers in his curly locks as she watched him rest.

He was so peaceful, she thought. But at the same time … he wasn't. His body wouldn't stop shaking, and his mouth was open in a silent scream. He looked tired, which is why Anne had urged him to sleep.

But pretty soon, he started having nightmares. It began with random mumbling … but soon turned into quiet whimpers. Soon, he was screaming, begging for someone to stop.

Rochefort, the Queen realized, and a wave of sadness washed over her.

"Aramis, please wake up," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. "It's just a nightmare. You need to wake up. Come on now, Aramis, please."

The poor man gasped, his eyes opening and darting around his surroundings. When realizing where he was, he sighed and sank into Anne's arms, breathing heavily. Sweat covered his face and body, but he was still shivering. "Anne?" he asked.

"I'm here," she said. "I'm here."

"Has he come?" he then said.

Anne shook her head. "No."

He sighed again. "He will soon," he replied, and shuddered.

XxXxX

Aramis was right; Philip did come, not taking his captive out of the room this time. "We will try something different today!" he announced. He took out a whip.

Anne gasped. "You wouldn't!" she cried.

Philip grabbed Aramis and shoved him onto the ground. The poor man groaned, his body tensing. "I would if it meant getting revenge for my brother, who died on his behalf," he heard Philip say.

The first kiss of the whip took him by surprise and he gasped, pain flourishing all throughout his body. The second time was much more painful, and Aramis couldn't hold in a stuffed groan. On the tenth hit, he screamed, his voice cracking. Each scream was broken by each hit, which were slowly becoming stronger and stronger.

"Don't look, Your Highness!" Aramis exclaimed. "Please, whatever you do, just don't look!"

The poor Queen was frozen. Her lover's words echoed in her mind but they didn't register. "Stop!" she finally was able to say. "Any more of this and he'll die!"

"Then I guess you will have to save him," Philip sneered.

He hit Aramis one more time before walking towards the door, the end of the whip trailing over the limp man's body. Aramis shivered.

Philip opened the door and took out a crate. He walked back to Anne and dropped the box beside her. Taking a closer look, Anne saw that it was filled with medical supplies. She sighed with relief.

"I would get on this right away, my Queen," Philip continued. "You see, if you do not, your precious Aramis will get an infection in his wounds. And then he definitely will not make it … tick, tock. Tick, tock." He kicked Aramis towards her, and she caught his trembling form, kissing his forehead and stroking his hair.

Philip smiled … and finally left. .

Anne reached for the crate, beginning to look at what she had. "Aramis, you have to tell me what to do," she said softly. "I cannot do this without your help, and you cannot die. Please, just find some strength."

Aramis groaned, but nodded jerkily. "Is there … maybe … a bottle o-of alcohol … in there?" he asked, his voice incredibly weak.

"Y-yes, there is," Anne replied in an equally shaking voice. But it wasn't out of pain, it was out of fear.

"Pour … it on my … wounds," Aramis said.

"Won't it hurt?" Anne questioned.

"Y-yes. But you have to do it … anyway. I will lean … a-against the wall … while you pour. Do not stop … no matter what you here. When you finish with … at least … half the bottle … and the wounds seem c-clean … stash it away … and then you will have t-to wrap my entire … upper body as t-t-tight as you can. Alright…?"

Anne nodded. "I will do my best."

The poor man managed to smile. "Now, g-go on."

Once Aramis was positioned correctly, Anne took out the bottle of wine and began pouring it atop Aramis' back. The marksman tried to hard not to scream, but failed. He cried out in pain as the burning liquid just kept on coming. And then it finally stopped.

Aramis gasped, trying to take deep breaths.

Next, Anne did as he told her, and began wrapping Aramis' entire upper body. When she finished, Aramis collapsed to the ground, all energy leaving him.

Anne gathered him into his arms and sat against the wall again, listening to Aramis' breathing.

"It will be okay, Aramis," she began saying, tears in her eyes.. "Treville and the others will find us … we will be alright."

Aramis looked up, his hand cupping her cheek. "I know," he whispered. "I know."

With that, he let his head drop down on her lap, and he was once again asleep.