His head was pounding when he finally awoke. I don't remember drinking, he thought fuzzily.
He finally opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear his eyesight.
When it finally did, he frowned at the unfamiliar surroundings. Dingy brown walls, dimly lit with one tiny window far above him near the ceiling. There was a dirt floor, which he was currently sitting on.
But it wasn't until he lifted his hand to examine the throbbing lump on the back of his head that alarm bells began ringing.
His arm wouldn't lift more than a few inches, and he realized his wrists had been shackled together, and then by another length of chain to the wall behind him.
He was suddenly wide awake. Looking around the room more thoroughly now, he discovered he was totally alone.
Aramis. Where was he?
His memory returned to him full force. He and Aramis had finished a day out and back errand for the King, and were less than an hour's ride back to Paris.
They had encountered very few travellers the whole way, and just enjoyed each other's company in light conversation.
And then, his memory failed him. He remembered nothing more, try as he might. Puzzled, he wondered if the blow to his head that he had received might have a little something to do with it.
Anxiety about Aramis returned. He tried calling out in a loud voice, but only the walls seemed to hear him.
Where was he? Had they been attacked? He chided himself at that thought. Of course they had to have been attacked. They had been fully armed and were highly skilled, so they wouldn't have been taken without a lot of effort and superior numbers.
Had his brother been killed? His heart nearly stopped considering that possibility. No, he refused to entertain that avenue unless presented with evidence.
Was he here somewhere? If he was, was he injured? Was he undergoing torment?
If he wasn't here, where was he?
So many questions, but Athos had no answers for any of them, and no way, at the present time and circumstances, to obtain any answers.
The only thing he could do is go back to trying to yank the chain he was attached to out of the bolt on the wall. He knew his wrists were going to suffer from it, but right now, he didn't care.
His wrists were not nearly as important as his brother's life.
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When he finally opened his eyes, he saw that he was in a small room with no windows. The floor, which he was currently lying on, was dirt.
He was laying on his side, his wrists bound behind him, his ankles also bound.
He remembered he and Athos being ambushed while returning to Paris. They had fought fiercely, but there were just too many of them.
He had been caught unawares as he had engaged a fierce-faced young man clumsily wielding an ancient sword. Someone had slammed a blunt object into the back of his head, knocking him instantly unconscious.
Athos! What had happened to him?
His quick perusal of the room had revealed that he was alone. Where had they taken his brother? Or had they killed….no, he refused to believe they could have slain Athos. He would know, would feel the emptiness inside his heart of the loss.
A long struggle against the ropes let him him know that whoever had bound him was an expert at it. There was no give whatever, he thought dejectedly.
What did they want? They hadn't killed him, so it was probably either information or ransom. But the King didn't ransom Musketeers, he had learned long ago. That didn't mean his kidnappers knew, though.
He had no idea how long he had lain there. He and concussions had a long history. He didn't tolerate them well at all. He would probably have his current massive headache for quite some time.
After what seemed like forever of lying unmoving, he gave into the weariness of his body's traumatic experience and yielded to the welcoming darkness.
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Aramis was rudely awakened sometime later by a bucket of freezing cold water being thrown at his head. Spluttering, he shook his head to dispel the water, his hair sodden as well as his shirt.
He was suddenly grabbed by arms on each side, and dragged abruptly upright, the movement making him dizzy as it combined with the remnants of his concussion.
He saw a middle-aged bull of a man stalking towards him from the now-open door. He stopped inches from Aramis' face, and stood for a few moments just glaring at him.
Aramis didn't recognize the man, wondering why he seemed so angry.
He tried speaking. "I don't know what you want, but…." getting no further before a fist slammed into his stomach, knocking all the air out of him as he gasped in pain.
"You don't speak here unless you are given permission, which you won't be," snarled the man in front of him. "You are a means to an end, and nothing more. When we have achieved what we are here for, you will be disposed of like the dog you are," his words confusing Aramis, a chill involuntarily running down his spine.
"This will not be pleasant for you, but we have no interest in what you feel or think anyway. You will be the means to a vengeance long-awaited and overdue."
With that, he said, "Let us begin."
The man swung his fist against Aramis' face, the marksman's head flung sideways by the force of the blow.
Before he could even take a breath, the next blow came. They kept coming, until finally things mercifully went dark for him, as he hung limply from the grips of his captors.
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Athos had finally worn himself out yanking his shackled hands back in his attempts to free himself, after working at it into the night and halfway through another day of captivity.
Laying back against the wall, he closed his eyes, wondering if he was ever going to lay eyes on whoever had imprisoned him.
Us, he amended, still hopeful that Aramis yet lived and was somewhere close by in this building. The alternative was still not one he would allow himself to contemplate.
He had yet to receive anything to eat, and his stomach was beginning to let him know it was angry at the lack.
How long are they going to stay hidden, he wondered.
As if on cue, he heard the bolt on his door drawn back, and a big, burly man strutted in, followed by two other men.
Coming across the room, he halted a couple of feet away from Athos. The man stood looking down at the Musketeer, a smile of intense satisfaction spreading across his face.
"Monsieur le Comte de la Fere, it is high time you have become my guest."
Athos' eyes sharpened at the sound of his former name and title.
"I gave my title up years ago. Who are you?" not recognizing the man yet, and the tone of demand in Athos' voice rankled the man, his visible displeasure evident.
"You won't behave so high-and-mighty for long, de la Fere. Your reckoning is fast approaching," the man said with a sneer.
"What do you want?" Athos asked him.
"You don't recognize me, do you?" he was asked in return.
Athos slowly shook his head, looking the man up and down.
"Then, maybe you will recognize the name Claude Beaufort," the man hissed angrily.
Athos' face then stifferened, registering his shock, and he looked the man over again.
"You are here for your reckoning, Monsieur le Comte. Someone who means a great deal to you for someone taken from me," he said, gesturing aggressively towards the door.
The door was slammed open, and two men came through it, a badly bloodied and unconscious Aramis hanging limply from their hands, his feet dragging along the floor as he was brought in.
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For all of you who are reading my Revenge fanfic, I may have another chapter during this next week. If not, then on the weekend. I will not leave it hanging again like before, for which I apologize again to you all. Thank you all so very much for reading, following, reviewing my fanfics.