"That's a stupid plan." Porthos muttered but didn't loosen his grip around Aramis arm as he dragged him with him. He hadn't missed how the man stumbled every now and then, the days of imprisonment had taken their toll on him. He may was angry at him for lying and distrusting them, but Aramis was still his brother.
"I don't like it either, but do you have a better one?" Athos raised a brow, causing Porthos to sigh in defeat.
"You're both insane." D'Artagnan shook his head at Athos and Aramis' plan, but just as Porthos he knew that it was their only option now. They needed a plan fast and this had been the only thing they came up with – so this was what they had to do now.
Aramis wanted to say something soothing, but they had already reached the camp again. He put back on the mask of a spanish prisoner as he was dragged and pushed through the camp. He knew Porthos was still careful to not really hurt him, but every now and then he twisted his ankle or nearly fell. At least it looked convincingly.
They reached Athos' tent a few minutes later, where General Girard already waited for the interrogation to start. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, as he raised his brows questioningly at Athos. "Where's the spanish speaking soldier you have told me about?"
"He was ordered to survey a troop of spanish soldiers a few miles in the south – he and his comrades were found and killed."
Girard observed him for a few moments, as if he tried to make out if Athos told the truth or not, but then he actually didn't care much about it. There was only one thing he was interested in and under this circumstances he was sure he would get it.
"So there is no reason for the prisoner to stay with you, Captain Athos." An ugly grin spread over the General's face, showing his yellow teeth.
"I still think we would be more successful with the interrogation than you."
"Unfortunately we will never find out. You've had your chance. You know the rules: We've imprisoned him, so he's our prisoner. Not yours."
Athos sighed and nodded in defeat. "He's yours."
Porthos pushed Aramis into the waiting arms of Girard's men. He wanted to shoot his brother one more apologetic look, but he couldn't dare to raise suspicions. Besides, Aramis didn't look at either of them one more time as he was dragged out of Athos' tent and towards the Generals camp.
D'Artagnan let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as only the three of them were left.
"It's still a stupid idea. We won't be able to control anything now! What if Girard gets frustrated and kills him?"
"He won't." Athos assured and poured wine into three glasses, handing one to each of his brother. "He's not that stupid. If he has no use for Aramis he will want to make an prisoner exchange."
Porthos gulped down the content of his glass before refilling it. He leant against the post in the middle of the tent. "And who can guarantee us that Aramis can play along long enough for the spy to meet him again?"
"No one." Athos answered drily, but he had no doubt that Aramis would make it. But for what price?
….
He was pushed onto a chair and bound to it tightly, the ropes rubbing against the already wound spots on his wrists and ankles.
"The Captain had been way to nice to scum like you." Girard muttered and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
Aramis just stared at him, not showing any sign that he understood him. "But don't worry, I will speak a language you will definitely understand." The first punch against his jaw caught him with surprise, sending his head flying to the side.
Before he could readjust, the fist collided again with his face, causing his nose to bleed.
After some time the familiar taste of iron spread in his mouth.