Athos tried desperatly to keep track of the time, anything to stay sane. Usually when they were held hostage it wasn't even that bad. Their captors were most likely some depserate farmers or other uneducated simple men. Normally Aramis and Porthos would use the time to talk about anything and nothing. D'Artagnan would complain how much he missen his bed and Constance and Athos would just watch over them and wait for an oppurtunity to escape. This time he feared he would have to wait long. This time was different in many ways. It was quite. Aramis didn't talk about one of his many affairs. Instead he kept to himself. If it was because of Porthos unfortunate situation or because of the water and food he was refused, Athos didn't know.
Moreover this man or men - they still didn't know who wanted the information - seemed more capable as most before them. They seemed to know what they had to do in order to break a man - but would they be able to break a musketeer?
According to the glimpses of sun he saw, the swordsman guessed that about two days went by. D'Artagnan had been beaten s second time, leaving his left eye swollen and his ribs bruised. He was too exhausted to complain. Porthos had stopped trying to get free or somehow communicate with his brothers, it was useless after all.
As the door was opened again, Athos stomach twisted - scared of what the man would do this time. He again brought food and water, giving it to Athos and D'Artagnan before he freed Porthos not only from the gag but from the blindfold and stups too. The big man blinked a few times in order to clear his view, and took in the surroundings around him – relieved to see his brothers still with him. He didn't get a chance to speak before some water was forced into him.
„Do you want to talk now?" Their captor asked, well knowing that Porthos was still far from breaking. He was exhausted, yes. He was confused, yes. But he still was intact and sane enough to not let something slip.
„I can't say I'm dissapointed. It would be so boring without some entertainment."
A cruel smile formed on the mans lips, making Porthos shudder. There was this strange sparkle in the mans eyes – controlled, but on the edge to insanity.
„Who are you?" Porthos asked and sat up straighter.
„Oh sorry, but I fear that's none of your interest. But I want to give you a name you can beg to be freed from your misery. Lamage, call me Lamage."
Lamage turned his back to Porthos and was on his way tot he door as Athos called out his name.
„Wait. He needs something to drink and eat too." The swordsman indicated towards Aramis, who sat slumped against the wall, half sleeping and way to exhausted to care what's going on around him. Lamace watched him for a few seconds before he shrugged and walked towards the marksman, slapping his cheek to get his attention. „I've heard that no man has lived more than three days without water, but some managed to survive over two weeks without food. Interesting, isn't it?"
No one answered as Lamage took out the waterskin and kneeled in front of Aramis, who seemed instantly more awake as he saw the water. He didn't hesistate as the skin was pressed to his lips and gulped down as much as possible – which he regretted instantly. After a few sips he noticed the bitter taste and started to cough out the precious liquid. Lamage grinned but didn't took back the skin. „It won't kill you, promise. I still need you alive. But you should drin kit or else you will die because of thirst." Aramis looked at him sceptically before his gaze fell onto his brothers, who watched him with concern. Athos didn't like what was going on, but there was nothing he could have done. The only thing he could do was tot o rely on his judgement of character and hope that he didn't chose the wrong decision. „Drink Aramis, it's been over two days."
The marksman gulped, as he knew too well what bitter taste soften meant – poison. „What's in it?" His voice was rough and he couldn't hold back a cough. „You will see soon enough. Now drink or die."
He had no other choice. Aramis took the skin and drank enough to wet his throat and feel a little bit healthier than before. Lamage grinned satisifed before he once again left them.
The medic noticed the worried eyes of his brothers on him so he lifted his hands reassuring. „I'm fine – really."
„Say if something changes." Porthos frowned, taking in every move of his friend. Aramis seemed okay – now.
„Did I miss something?" The big man then tried to change a subject and build a conversation – he still felt kind of isolated. The feeling of loneliness still lingered in his heart and threw him emotionally back tot he days he lived in the Court of Miracles. There, he had always been alone before he met Charon and Flea. Porthos had never been someone who like to be to his own, he always needed someone around him,, someone to talkt o or just someone who sat by his side. He just wanted to know that there was someone. That they hadn't left.
„Not really." D'Artagnan mumbled and tried to find a new position to sit, but this only caused him to wince at the pain that spread through his ribs. „Carefull mon ami. You said you're not sure if they are bruised or broken and if a rib is broken it can pierce –"
„My lungs and I die. I know that too damn well Aramis. No need to remind me." The Gascon hissed and held his hand onto the blue spot on his torso.
„I wish I could take a look at it." D'Artagnan threw him an apologetic look, knowing that Aramis was just concerned at that it was hard for him not tob e able to help his brothers. „I'm fine, Mis. It may hurt but I'm almost sure that they're only bruised."
Aramis smiled weakly and scratched at his skin absently.
As silence once again hung over the cell, the sound of scratching grew louder and as Aramis hissed, he had the full attention of his brothers. „What is it?" Athos asked while he tried to make out what his friends problem was.
„Nothing. It just… burns." Aramis winced again and tried to stop the scratching at his arms as it started to increase the bruning sensation on his skin.
Just a few seconds felt like an eternity and he digged his fingernails into his wrist hard.
The others confusion changed to concern as the marksman pulled at his hair, searching desperatly for some kind of distraction oft he burning pain, that increased with each minute. It had been only ten minutes since the scratching began but it was already unearable fort he medic as he pulled at his hair harder.
„Make it stop." Aramis whimpered and scratched again, just to flinch instantly at the pain that it caused.
„Just – Just try tot hink about something else. Uhm… remember – I don't know anything." Porthos sighed and looked at Athos and d'Artagnan in search for some kind of help. But none of them knew what to do, never had experienced something like this before.
Aramis breath fastened as he clenched his eyes shut, desperate to control himself, to not show how much he suffers – but this kind of pain, as if a flame would burn his skin, was something he couldn't handle. Bulletwounds, he knew. Stabwounds he could handle. Fever he could endure. But this – this was so different from everything he had ever experienced before.