I know it had been I while since I last posted but this ones all about Porthos.
Again I just want to say any comments will be gratefully apritiated.
Enjoy!
When Porthos had finally woken he had found himself lying inside a dark, cramp cell. He'd shifted slightly trying to stretch his tired muscles only to let out harsh gasp when a sharp pain had rushed down his body. He had lent back against the cold stonewall gasping for air. It was at that point that Porthos had remembered what had happened. He remembered hard fists pummeling him again and again. Slowly he moved his hands and lifted up shirt. His skin was black and purple but he was relieved that when he touched his ribs he felt none of the bones shift.
After lowering his shirt again he had turned his attention his arm. Lifting up the sleeve Porthos couldn't bear to look at it. The skin was red and inflamed. Around the wound there was dry, crusted blood. Even without touching it Porthos could tell from the heat emanating from it that it was infected. 'Brilliant, just what I need' he growled softly to himself. He let his sleeve drop and looked around him taking in his prison. It appeared to be some kind of cellar that Kiron had transformed into a cell.
There was a small window at the top of one of the walls, which was the only source of light. From the silvery moonlight that shone through it Porthos guessed that it was around midnight. The musketeers must have noticed his disappearance by now. He thought to himself. They would be looking for him. This had made him smile; he knew his friends would not stop until they had found him.
Suddenly his thoughts had been interrupted by the door on the far side of the room opening. He'd tried to pull himself backwards and into the shadows away from this new enemy but as they came forward he had realised that it wasn't Kiron or his men but a woman. She was dressed in a scruffy white gown that went down to the floor. It was ripped in some places and in others places were stains of what looked like food and soot. She had long flowing gold hair that was tangled and unkempt. In her hands she had been carrying a tray, which held a bowl, cloth and a few other items. Slowly she had made her way towards him, not making eye contact, as though she was dealing with a wild animal that she didn't want to startle.
When she had she reached him she knelt down placing the tray besides her. Steadily she had reached out taken his injured arm lightly in her hand. Porthos couldn't help but let out a hiss of pain, which made the woman flinch, but something had stopped him from pulling away. He had watched as she had carefully pulled up his sleeve and examined his wound. The women's face had dropped and Porthos had felt a sinking feeling in his heart. He had already known he was in trouble but this woman's expression had confirmed it. 'How bad is it' He had growled, trying to sound as unthreatening as possible but she had just shaken her head, still not making eye contact.
It was at this point that she had brought the tray closer. She poured some kind of liquid into the bowl and handed him the bottle and he had accepted it gratefully. Suddenly aware of what she was about to do, Porthos took off his belt and put it into his mouth. Nodding to her that he was ready, she had taken the cloth, dipped it into the bowl and then placed it against his wound. Porthos could not stop the scream of pain that escaped from him. He had swung his arm around violently, instincts causing him to try to get away from the thing that was causing him pain. Even with the alcohol numbing Porthos' senses the fire that was raging on his arm was excruciating. But the woman had been strong, her hands keeping a firm but gentle grip on his arm while she finished her work.
As soon as the wound was clean she had released him and watched silently as he had pulled himself away. Porthos had sat there panting; pulling in great gasps of air, trying to extinguish the fire that still raged on his arm and the one that was beginning to burn near his ribs. Again the woman had approached him carefully on hands and knees, pulling the tray along with her. She had taken up his sleeve and from her tray had produced a small round pot. Delicately she had taken some paste from pot and applied it to his wound. He had tensed, prepared himself for a harsh stinging but instead had felt a soothing coldness that made him sigh in relief. He had seen a bemused smile flit across the woman's face but her blank mask was quickly replaced.
Focusing on her work Porthos had thought how much the woman reminded him of Aramis. Her fingers had moved with a quick efficiency, gentle in comparison to her rough, well-worked hands. When she had finished the women had neatly wrapped a bandage round his wound, pulling it tight and finishing it of with a smart bow. She had sat back for a minute admiring her handy work when a noise outside made her start. Hurriedly she had packed her stuff back onto her tray, reaching over to grab the bottle that still sat next to him. As she did, Porthos had suddenly grabbed her arm.
He could feel her pulse racing as she started to panic and had felt guilt rising inside of him. This woman had helped me and this was how he repaying her, he thought, he may have done it at the court but he was a musketeer now. He had quickly released her arm and gruffly he murmured 'Sorry'. She had swiftly pulled her arm away, placed the bottle onto her tray and had been about to rise and leave when Porthos had whispered in his gruff voice, 'And Thank you'. It was at this point when her head turned round, she looked up and their eyes finally met. Her eyes were a sharp bright blue and filled with something that Porthos could not read. A feeling of recognition had come over him but was gone as the sound of the door being open broke the silence and she had quickly rose and left.
That had been almost two nights ago. Once the women had left Porthos had fallen into a deep sleep only to be woken in the morning by two men who had then dragged him before Kiron. Tyron, Kiron personal guard dog, had been there also, standing near by, hand at the ready to hit Porthos if he insulted Kiron. Which happened a lot.
Kiron had spent a good half of the day questioning Porthos without prevail and spent the rest of the time trying to torture the information out of him. But Porthos had kept quite, he would not betray his friends or his King and so Kiron had eventually given up and put him back in his the cell which Porthos was beginning to become well acquainted with.
That night the woman had not come that but Porthos had found a pot of ointment, some food and a small water skin wrapped in a cloth in the corner of his cell and was unable to stop the small smile cross his lips. Kiron may think he was alone but Porthos knew that his friends would be looking for him and until they came he was being well looked after. Porthos had applied the ointment he had been given to his arm that was beginning to heal nicely and a little to his chest to hopefully reduce the bruising and slight swelling that had occurred.
Porthos had slept well again that night but the next day had been hard. Before Kiron had listen to Tyron when dealing with Porthos' torture but now he decided to choose something of his own and Porthos hadn't been able to tell which of them was worse until now. Kiron had tied him up blindfolded outside at dawn and had left him there without water or food for the whole day. His shirt had been taken from him and he could feel himself burning from the suns rays. Even though his dark skin tone allowed more relief in the sun than others the pure heat of the suns rays in contrast to the cold winter air around him caused to fight against the will to just give in and beg for the sweat release of death. Porthos managed to old out though and when the sun had finally set he was taken back to his cell. Porthos now lay on the floor trying to take in as much of its cool relief as possible. In his heart he knew that his brothers would be trying to find him but in his head a small voice whispered that he was wrong.