December Desolation Chapter 28
A/N: Next chapter guys, enjoy :D
Aramis woke slowly and immediately wished he hadn't. It had been somewhere between the lashing and the branding that he had passed out, finally reaching the limits of his endurance.
He experimentally flexed the muscles in his legs and grimaced as it pulled on some cuts but thankfully that seemed to be the extent of the damage down there. He moved on and tried to shift from his position spread eagled on the floor, stopping as pain flared up his spine like a lightning bolt, setting the nerve endings on fire and freezing him in place. Skin was pulling disconcertingly on his back where it had been split by the whip and bruises had been smashed into his skin by boots and fists.
A low moan was torn from his throat as he jarred broken fingers, scrabbling in the dirt for purchase with which to move his broken body.
A gloating voice sounded behind him and he froze, knowing that they already knew he was awake but still hoping distantly that they would be fooled and leave him alone; he didn't know how much more he could take.
"So, the Spanish whore finally wakes" the soldier laughed, kicking him in the ribs with a booted foot, the breath was knocked from his lungs and he heard more than felt the snap of a rib. "We were beginning to despair of having any more fun" he groped obscenely at his crotch and smirked sleazily.
"Well, I have to say that your sense of fun is very different from mine" Aramis rasped, blood running cold at the insinuation, searching frantically through foggy memories for any sign he was telling the truth. He couldn't find any definitive answers, just shadowy spectral images of warm flesh and sharp pain, teeth sinking into the junction of his shoulder. He shuddered and shoved the memories away, locking them into the same steel box that held Savoy.
"Oh I would imagine it is" the smirk warped into a snarl as he glared down at him "your idea of fun is to murder, cheat, sin and drag others down into your depraved ways."
Aramis braced himself for another beating but was granted a reprieve when the smarmy tones of Pierre drifted over, "Luc, that's enough. We need him alive and at the rate you're going he won't see the morning."
"But boss"
"Don't you but boss me, do you want the money or not?"
Silence ensued.
"That's what I thought. Now get him up, we need to move on in case those ruddy Musketeers come back. Besides we're behind schedule and the boss will be wanting 'im soon, we were supposed to have delivered them already. But hey, one's better than none."
Rough hands grabbed Aramis by the arms and hauled him upright, ignoring the injuries. His head swam sickeningly, vision whiting out with the agony that was shooting through his body and he stumbled, knees refusing to support him. It didn't matter to Luc that he wasn't supporting his own weight, he merely tightened his grip and hauled him bodily over to one of the horses.
Rough rope was wrapped tightly around his wrists once more, pulled painfully tight so it bit into the tender skin.
"Up we go" Luc mocked as he flung him over the back of the horse, arms trapped beneath his body, head and legs dangling off either side as if he was a marionette whose strings had been cut.
It was not a comfortable position, it pulled in all the wrong places and he could feel his blood rushing to his head, heartbeat pounding in his ears as he felt bile rising up in his throat. He swallowed it down desperately, there would be nothing worse at this moment than to humiliate himself in front of these men, he was a Musketeer and he would uphold his regiment's honour.
His determination lasted all of five minutes as the horse began to walk, the horrible roiling in his stomach intensified as he was jolted and jarred, losing the contents of his stomach down the side of the horse only served to make him feel worse.
Mentally he moaned loud and long, praying for it all to end soon whether it be with death or with rescue, in the grand scheme of things he was a minor player and he would rather die than give up information.
Really he just gritted his teeth and rattled off a litany of prayers under his breath to distract himself from his pain.
Athos glared murderously at the tree line before him, the sun was hovering on the horizon and it was placed just right to shine directly in his eyes no matter how much he tilted his hat. His head was pounding furiously, like he had a platoon of tiny drummers marching around in his brain at band practice.
"Ath, you're going to fell some trees with your eyes again if you're not careful" Porthos warned, kicking his horse closer to the sullen man.
"Yes well you try living with a headache that feels as if you've been trampled by at least five horses and then had a trumpet blown in your ears"
"And you said Aramis was dramatic"
Athos rolled his eyes at Porthos' teasing and immediately regretted his life decisions, he had set off a terrible throbbing behind his eyeballs and seriously contemplated whether gouging them out with a spoon would make things better.
He blinked in surprise as a water skin appeared before his face, waving up and down as Porthos attempted to get his attention.
"Drink"
"If I must"
D'artagnan was slowly following along behind, muffling his giggles at his brothers antics and attempting to hide his worry for Athos.
They slowed to a halt as they stumbled into the clearing they had just recently fled from, staring around at the wreckage of a camp site, charred wood left still smoking.
"They haven't been gone long" Athos muttered, pushing aside the aggravating pain and surveying the scene with narrowed eyes, assessing the information left behind. "Can you track them Porthos?"
"What do you think?"
A/N: Thank you guys for the reviews, I hope the Aramis whump was okay for you guys! :D Next chapter Aramis faces off with the man who has orchestrated their kidnapping! Drama! Anyway, that one may take a little longer to get up as I want it to be a longer chapter and I have a feeling it will be a little difficult to work out. Stay tuned for the next chapter :D
