New chapter! I hope you like it. Please make sure to read and review.

-M

Days passed as d'Artagnan, Porthos, Constance, and Anne tried to figure out the best, safest, and quietest way to finally free their beloved Aramis. Soon enough, they made a plan, and then that same night, Porthos and d'Artagnan broke into the Bastille, beginning to search for Aramis.

When they managed to find his cell, Porthos quickly got rid of the men standing guard, and then they burst through the doors of the prison room.

And when Porthos laid eyes on his best friend, he almost collapsed. His comrade was lying crumpled on the cold, hard ground, shaking violently. His shirt was in tethered ruins, and he was submerged in a thin pool of blood and, what seemed like, water.

He knelt down beside Aramis, nudging a stray lock of soaked hair away from his face. "Aramis?" he said lovingly.

"Please…," Aramis murmured, attempting to jerk away from Porthos' grasp. He failed. "No more."

"Aramis, it's me, Porthos," the bigger man assured him. "I have come with d'Artagnan. We are going to get you out of here."

Aramis slowly opened his tired, glassy eyes, his hand blindly reaching for Porthos' hand. "P-Porthos?" He sounded broken.

"Yeah, it's me," Porthos replied, closing his fingers around Aramis' weak ones. "Don't worry, my friend, everything will be just fine."

As he gathered Aramis in his arms, Porthos watched as the man nodded, letting his head fall on the chest of the one holding him. He picked up him up with ease, and then he and d'Artagnan began making their way out of the prison, wanting nothing more than to leave that hellhole.

While carrying him, Porthos kept on muttering to Aramis, trying to keep his mind off the pain that was probably eating away at him.

"Remember when you that time when you stitched up a gunshot wound in the middle of a forest with no medical supplies?" he asked him. "I still can't believe you did that. And the best part is that I survived."

Aramis chuckled weakly. "Yes," he whispered. "Still not s-sure if I should … have o-or not."

"Ha ha, very funny," Porthos said. "If you didn't, I wouldn't be here saving you."

The injured man laughed again, and then buried his face in Porthos' clothing. "It seems you're … right." He closed his eyes.

Finally, after a seeming eternity, the two men got their friend back to the garrison. They immediately got him into his old room from when he was a Musketeer, which Constance and Anne had gotten ready for him. They had decided before not to mend his wounds when they got him back; they wanted to allow him the rest he really needed, and knew that they would only hurt him more if they mended his wounds.

When Anne saw her lover, she cried out, holding her hand to her mouth. "Oh God, Aramis," she breathed out. Her eyes stayed on his pain-filled face while Porthos carried him to bed. Once placing him down, he pulled a chair and motioned for the Queen to sit down.

"His shoulder was dislocated when I saw him," Anne pointed out, wondering if it still was.

D'Artagnan quickly checked, but shook his head when seeing that it did not look misplaced. "He must have put it back in," he explained. "He knew that it would have been dangerous if he didn't."

Anne nodded, sitting herself down on the chair Porthos prepared for her. She entangled her fingers in his unruly hair, trying to provide him with at least some kind of comfort. He felt him shaking under her fingertips, and she soon started to feel tears making their way down her face.

And then the long wait began…

XxXxX

Throughout the entire night, Aramis was plagued by nightmares, that took almost an hour to get under control. In that time, the four people waiting for him to wake up found out that he had been beaten, whipped, forced under water for long periods of time, sleep deprived, and worst of all, reminded of some of the most painful things that had happened in his past.

This made Porthos want to go after Lansac himself, but he forced himself to stay with Aramis. He needed him more than ever now.

But soon enough, Aramis woke up. He woke up with a startled gasp, his eyes snapping open. He looked around worriedly, almost expecting himself to be back at the Bastille. But when he saw Anne, his once tense body loosened. "A-Anne?" he said through a hoarse throat.

"Yes, Aramis, it's me," she replied softly. "You are at the rebuilt garrison, back in your old room."

Aramis nodded slowly. "My wounds," he stated quietly. His voice held no emotion … just pain. He wasn't the Aramis he once was.

"What about them?" d'Artagnan asked. He did not expect the answer Aramis gave him.

"They hurt."

The young warrior sucked in a breath. Aramis never told anyone that he hurt…

"How about we patch them for you then?" Porthos said.

Once again, Aramis nodded, saying nothing else.

Porthos and d'Artagnan quickly patched up all of their friend's wounds: his whip lashes, his broken ribs, and any other bruise or scratch they found. Aramis kept quiet the entire time, only wincing when his 'doctors' hit a soft spot.

When they finished, they left him to rest, understanding that after everything he had been through, he probably did not want to talk about it. The minute he fell asleep, Constance walked in, carrying some broth for Aramis. When seeing that he was sleeping, she sighed quietly and walked forward, giving the broth to Anne instead.

"I will get him some more later," she explained. "You should eat."

Anne smiled in gratitude. "Thank you." Her smile faded. "I knew that Aramis would not come out of this unharmed, but I really did not expect this."

"Me neither," d'Artagnan replied. "He will definitely take a long time to recover."

"I need some air," Porthos replied, walking out of the room.

He stood on the garrison's balcony, looking out into the distance. He took a deep breath and let it out, resting his hands on the railing and placing his head in his hands.

I will get Lansac for this, Aramis, he thought to himself. I swear to God, I will avenge you for this.