Athos had not been surprised to find their enemies waiting in front of the monastery for him and his fellow musketeers. They dismounted from their horses and walked towards the leader of this group of miscreant men. What he had been surprised about was his old friend kneeling prone on the ground beside the Spaniards.
Athos had received an urgent summons a couple of days ago to make haste to the Douai Monastery. It was to be the staging ground to a peaceful treaty amongst the small province to France. Athos had been greatly relieved to receive the missive, knowing that his brother resided there and also knowing he'd be able to see him after so long. Letters between them had been few and often formal much to Athos dismay.
He heard the exclamations of his comrades beside him and couldn't help from adding his own. He could hear Porthos' low growling and see d'Artagnan's fidgeting beside him.
"You will let this man go immediately."
"I fail to see how that would benefit myself and my men?" taunted the leader. "You are the current Captain of this regiment are you not? Aramis was the most convenient way to get you here."
Athos settled his hands on the belt at his waist and sighed. He glanced at his bound brother, whose head was pulled back at an angle that Athos was sure would snap his neck in half at any given moment. He looked bruised and beaten but oddly was a sight for sore eyes to Athos. The man was breathing heavily and Athos was more than a little worried that he was hurt far worse than they could see. He knew that the Gascon would be itching to rip the dagger at Aramis throat from his captors' hands and sever their throats and he knew for a fact that Porthos was about two seconds from exploding.
"And how do you figure that?" he finally asked.
The leader smirked and walked casually over to the monk. "Well for one he is one of yours, one of the fabled Inseparables," The leader smiled at d'Artagnan's surprised face. "Oh yes, we've heard of you three." He motioned for the dagger to be removed and gently caressed Aramis' exposed neck.
"I haven't seen this man in several years, what makes you think that he would be any more valuable to me now than all those years ago? He is no longer a Musketeer, sent here by my hand. We've not spoken since so what he does, does not concern us." It really hurt Athos to say these things about his brother and he could see Aramis flinch slightly, but finding out this man's true motives had to come first. They had a monastery of monks to save, not just one.
"No, I know this one… we go way back. He's alive for now only for your cooperation and then later? Well, that's between us two." The man grasped Aramis' neck in what looked like a tight grip and hauled him roughly to his feet. His two cronies that had been guarding him grasped his shoulders to support the monk when it was obvious standing on his own wasn't going to be an option.
D'Artagnan started forward as if to grab Aramis from them but was stopped by Athos' firm grip on the base of his neck.
"Well now that we've had this enlightening reunion we can continue, you will be allowed to remove all of the Monks in the monastery, excluding this one obviously," he said still holding Aramis' neck, "And in return we will take the building as our own, you will renounce Douai, giving it to Spain as spoils of war. Oh and of course also leave with the same haste that you arrived."
"Not bloody likely!" Porthos snorted, the big brute was flexing his hands open and then closing them into fists. "What bloody fools do you take us for? We'll come back and kill you all in your sleep!"
Athos closed his eyes, wincing at Porthos statement and of Aramis' barely discernible sharp intake of breath at the memories of twenty Musketeers attacked in their sleep. He glared at Porthos then, placing a hand on his shoulder as if to hold him back. "Porthos! You will settle." He continued to glare at his friend until he felt the man's shoulder drop slightly.
"You will give us Aramis as well," Athos stated evenly.
The leader's smile suddenly evaporated "I thought I had made myself clear, HE, is off the table. He has served his purpose in getting you all here and now he and I have some unfinished business to take care of. You have until sundown to make your choice and either choice will still result in this one's death, mind you." Each word had been punctuated by a sharp jerk of his hand shaking Aramis and the squeezing of his neck until the man's face was bright red and he was squeaking trying to draw air into his lungs.
"Stop that this instance!" Porthos growled.
The leader let go of Aramis' neck and watched impassively as the monk's eyes rolled up and he passed out. He motioned for his men to remove the monk from the scene.
Athos was vibrating in anger as his brother was dragged back into the Monastery. "I see that we are at an impasse. We will consider your deal and return at sundown," he conceded.
"I thought you'd see reason," the leader smiled gleefully and then he turned and disappeared within the Monastery doors.
Athos pivoted and walked away already turning his thoughts inward.
"You can't be seriously considering going along with this?" D'Artagnan spoke up angrily stomping after his mentor.
Athos rounded on the youngest of their group angrily, "We do not have the advantage d'Artagnan! We are making a retreat and gathering time to come up with a plan. Have you learned nothing about plans of action in these years?"
D'Artagnan's low growling response caused Porthos to pause mid-stride, surprised at the Gascon's unusual reaction and Athos smiled slightly, "We will get him back, we will save the Monks and make a treaty with Douai kid, it's just going to take some careful planning." With that, Athos turned again and went walking towards the treeline in the near distance. Porthos grinned at their youngest and tossed his arm over the man's shoulders as they followed in Athos' wake.
Aramis was strung up in the chapel, his arms pulled high above his head by a rope that had been looped over one of the cross beams in the ceiling. He pondered for a moment on how they had gotten the rope up there, but just as quickly decided he didn't want to know. The remainder of his monk brothers were nowhere to be found, and he assumed that the big bad guy had instructed his goons to move them someplace else.
They'd at least allowed his feet to fully rest on the ground, for which he was eternally grateful, but at the same time, his one knee was unable to carry any weight and his other leg was having trouble keeping him balanced. It probably also didn't help that the chapel was rocking back and forth… or was that himself? His first order of business was getting out of these bonds, he could figure out his knee and how to walk after. The Spaniards had left him alone in the chapel and Aramis was no fool, he knew they'd be back shortly. He glanced upwards at his hands assessing his situation, going over scenarios in his head and finally settling on trying to dislocate his thumb.
His four years here hadn't been spent just praying, the brothers had encouraged him to learn. Books were brought to him constantly and Aramis was quite the adept healer now. In return, he had taught the monks how to escape situations out of their control, how to defend themselves and how to survive.
He knew that if he could somehow get his thumb out of joint, he would be able to pull his hand loose and then the rope securing his other hand would loosen, freeing him. He took another moment and glanced at his hands, the circulation had been cut off and they no longer tingled. His biggest obstacle would actually be the fact that his feet were planted flat on the ground. He was able to manoeuvre his hand slightly so that a good portion of his weight would pull the thumb out of joint, and grabbed the rope leading to the crossbeam in his other hand. Aramis pulled himself up as much as he could with one hand and then let go, dropping and yanking the rope against his thumb.
The ensuing agony was almost unbearable and Aramis shouted in pain. The monk shook visibly at the pain assaulting him, he'd caught his one foot on the floor and jarred his knee and the darn thumb hadn't even bothered to pop out of place. He stood there breathing heavily for a few moments, trying to gain some composure and also trying to convince himself to do it again. This time, he bent his legs so that he was hanging from his ropes and pulled himself up silently praying this would work. He counted to five, just to give himself a starting point and let go.
"What are you!-" The guard entering the chapel shouted, cut off by Aramis' pained cry. "GUARDS!"
Aramis' thumb had finally popped out of joint and his hand promptly slipped right out of its bonds; however that left his other still bound wrist straining against the weight. Blinded by the sheer throbbing pain of his dislocated thumb and the jarring motion of his writhing, his shoulder decided to join in the fun and slid out of its home with a crack. Tears obscuring his vision Aramis set his feet down and whimpered pitifully as his knees refused to hold his weight. He hung there in abject misery barely registering the guards running into the chapel and cutting the rope still holding his useless arm. They grabbed him and forced him down to his knees, grabbing at his robes and neck to keep him upright and in place.
"Tsk Tsk Aramis!" Tobias' brother chuckled, the man had crouched down before the monk and brushed his hair from his face and finally, grabbing his chin lifted his head so that Aramis had no choice but to look him in the eye.
"That wasn't quite the smartest thing you just did was it now?" The Spaniard let go of his chin and motioned for his men to lift the marksman. "Where's the fun in torturing someone when they do it so beautifully to themselves?"
He pulled his arm back and barrelled his fist into Aramis' stomach. The monk coughed harshly, blood dribbling out the corner of his mouth. The punch to the gut had made it exceedingly hard to breathe and it was taking all his remaining energy to not let the darkness take him. He could hear his own harsh halting breaths and the thud of each subsequent blow to his abdomen and his sides. His struggle to remain conscious was all for not however as the big guy, angered by Aramis' lack of reaction, aimed a swift kick to his already swollen knee popping it neatly from its joint. Aramis world went completely white for the second time that day and his last thought was of the hilariousness of three dislocated joints and how Porthos would never let him live this down. The white light intensified and he closed his eyes to oblivion.