Pain, incessant and throbbing was the first thing Aramis was aware of as he slowly regained consciousness, the pounding in his head seemed relentless. A soft groan escaped him although it would take the musketeer a few moments to realise that that sound came from him. Ebony eyelashes fluttered open making him wince, what had happened?
At first the world was a blur but eventually it swam into focus. Raising his head from his chest he looked round in confusion; where was he? Instinctively he moved to rub his face but found his hands restrained behind his back. Slowly his mind began to piece together what had happened; he'd been collecting firewood with Porthos, no not with Porthos – Porthos had gone, he was alone. A blunt instrument – a musket, had hit him in the face and now … now he was clearly a captive of some kind but for what purpose and just whose captive he was Aramis did not yet know.
Looking around him Aramis grimaced, he was in a cell of some kind judging by the darkness he was clearly underground; looking at the only exit and entrance to his cell, a heavy wooden door, he found himself wondering what lay beyond. Most likely he was in a dungeon, which meant he was either being held beneath a castle or under ruins – because who else had a dungeon beneath their home?
Automatically his mind went to Porthos and his brothers, what had happened to them? Were they safe? Had they been taken captive too? Looking at his feet it was a relief to see that they at least weren't bound together like his wrists. Swivelling onto his knees he managed to rise to stand on unsteady feet. It became apparent quickly that his shackled wrists were also attached to a chain. Testing the length, he was frustrated to find that it barely extended far off the wall, giving him only enough room to either sit or stand.
Looking down at himself he took a mental inventory of what was missing, his hat, weapons, coat and boots had all been stripped, leaving him only in his shirt and breeches. Staring down at exposed toes made him feel oddly vulnerable, how hard had he been hit to sleep through that?
Alone in the darkness he shivered, it was cold in the cell and the stone walls were damp. It was a grim place that unsettled the musketeer greatly. Again, Aramis found his mind turning to Porthos, thinking back on nights spent laughing in the tavern … and on nights spent warm in each other's embrace. Nights spent safe against Porthos's side, head resting on that strong chest listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart was one of Aramis's favourite places to be. The memories gave him comfort and bolstered his courage; no matter who or what came through that door Aramis would face it and he'd find a way to escape because that conversation with Porthos in the forest could not be their last.
He had wronged him and Aramis was determined to make amends and to heal the hurt he'd caused. Aramis loved Porthos with all his heart and would not rest until his lover knew that. The sound of a key turning in the lock drew his attention, straightening he raised his chin defiantly. He was a musketeer and he would face whatever came through that door with the courage befitting of his station. The door swung open, spilling light into the dark cell and Aramis steeled himself for what was to come.
Author's note: I'd just like to thank faldo and SilverFalcon4 for their reviews - your support is much appreciated and thank you for taking the time to review - I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far and hope you enjoy all that is still to come :)
Also thank you to everyone who has added this to their favourites/ follow list - I am beyond flattered and it has given me so much motivation :)
