December Desolation Chapter 29

Falling through the air was the first thing Aramis was aware of since they had stopped in Giverny for an hour to rest the horses that were literally steaming with exertion in the cool air. It was crazy to think that not even half a day earlier he had been in Versailles with his brothers and now he was, well to be honest he had yet to open his eyes so he had no idea where he was now.

By now he was beyond fed up with the circumstances, he had worked hard his entire life and was taking a well-deserved break only to be kidnapped by some crazy people. It was an alarmingly frequent occurrence he realised, musing over his life as a Musketeer, what was it about him that screamed abduct me he wondered?

Ah well, there was no use crying over spilt milk, and many of the hundred other motivational sayings that people liked to bandy about when in a situation where you really just wanted to cry anyway. There was a strange tickling sensation making its way over his cheek and he gritted his teeth to stop an undignified squeak from escaping, please Lord don't let that be a spider he prayed fervently, not one of the many legged beasts of torment. Forcing his eye open a crack, he was relieved to notice that he had simply fallen face first into a patch of grass and an exceptionally long strand had decided his face needed to be stroked repeatedly. Scrunching his nose in irritation he attempted to shift on the hard ground but was thwarted when his limbs refused to obey him, arms trembling violently and legs doing a good approximation of blancmange. Damn now he was craving blancmange, Serge made the best puddings.

Now is not the time Aramis he scolded himself. You are lying helpless goodness only knows where in the middle of France, your brothers have no idea what has happened to you and you currently have no escape plan. What are you thinking about? Blancmange. Bloody. Blancmange. Pull yourself together man.

Now to an escape plan, that would be the sensible thing to do. His hands were still bound tightly together and currently trapped at a very awkward angle beneath him, his thumbs digging uncomfortably into his chest. As he had already discovered, his legs would be of no help to him if he attempted to escape and he was pretty sure they were tied together as well anyway. All in all escape was looking pretty unlikely and a plan was evading his fuzzy brain despite having been wracking it for what felt like the past half an hour.

"Pierre go and get the toy" ' ' called from where he was lounging in a tent on a bedroll, "and bring me some food, we can't have it wasting away before we deliver the goods."

A hand seized him by the hair and yanked viciously and he whimpered softly as his back arched and he tipped his neck back as far as possible to release the strain on his stinging scalp. Hot breath ghosted over his ear as Pierre taunted him.

"Come on then, you heard him, it's playtime"

The hand in his hair released its grip and he went sprawling back into the dirt with a sigh of relief, one that didn't last very long as the hand was joined by another in gripping him around the waist and began half lifting, half dragging him across the ground. He winced as rocks and dirt scraped at his skin and lamented the bruises and scratches that would be littering his body now. They finally came to a halt, a pair of dusty leather boots before his nose.

Aramis began to pray.

"Found anything yet?" Athos asked as he glared into the horizon, eyes tight with pain.

"Four horses passed through here about five hours ago, the trail goes a little bit cold up here but I reckon I can guess where they're heading" Porthos rumbled with a grim expression.

D'artagnan was riding a little behind the other two, head spinning from one to the other; he couldn't guess where they were heading. Although he supposed that came from having grown up in the country, despite having spent the last two years in Paris he still got lost sometimes when running errands. He relied on his brothers when they needed to find the local haunts of the criminal overlords.

"Saint Just" Porthos murmured and spurred his horse on with an aggravated nudge of his heels.

A/N: Sorry for how late and how short this chapter is! My first exam is next week and the stress is unreal, I will try to keep writing but it will be slow. Hope you enjoy this chapter and please do let me know what you think :D