Chapter 3

Aramis had always been the one to shoot first. Very rarely had his enemy managed to shoot him. It was an unusual experience. The bullet ripped through layers of skin and nerves, tearing through his body until it finally came to rest in his bone. The excoriating pain made Aramis consider never using a gun again, although when he shot someone he usually killed them, they did not have to live through the pain.

To keep the pain within him he shut his eyes tight. He imagined opening them to see his friends, worried faces, a slight blur, he instantly felt a rush of joy. But when he did open his eyes Aramis was not met with the safety and comfort of friends but instead the harsh reality of being face to face with the devil himself.

The devil was smirking. Playing with the gun as if it was a toy and not something that could so easily take someone's life. Aramis noticed the sweat dripping down his torturer's face and his dilated pupils, he realised Rochefort was taking pleasure from inflicting such dire pain.

"You're enjoying this too much my friend" Aramis stated, deciding that he needed to try and understand the strange creature in front of him. The excitement seemed to disappear in an instant. The smirk wiped from his face replaced by a grimace.

"I am not your… friend!" the amount of hatred, anger, pain and resentment placed on one word sent a chill down Aramis' spin. "I DO NOT HAVE A NEED FOR FRIENDS!" Rochefort's shouting did not seem to be directed at his prisoner but instead himself, as if he was trying to justify his loneliness. Aramis felt pity creeping in through the pain. The Musketeer had friends that would lay down their lives for him, they were loyal to the bone but even more than that, he would do the same for them. Rochefort had power and fear. He controlled people and those he has no control over, he ruled through fear. What kind of relationship was that? Aramis could almost see the broken soul inside Rochefort begging to be fixed again.

The sound of a door opening alerted both Aramis and Rochefort, multiple footsteps echoed through the hallway coming towards the cell. A look of confusion glimmered in Rochefort's eyes, a swell of hope blossomed in Aramis' heart. It was his friends, but soon Rochefort covered his confusion with a mask of annoyance.

"Why are you interrupting me?" He said before the owners of the footsteps had presented themselves. The guards stopped outside the cell all looking at one another the fear clear in their mannerisms "Would one of you spit it out already!"

"You instructed us that if there was to be any trouble upstairs to retrieve you.." a guard said nervously positioning his shield between himself and Rochefort, who was still loosely holding the gun "Well sir there is trouble upstairs wi.."

"Do not discuss such matters in front of the prisoner you imbecile!" Rochefort was starting to turn red, the guards instinctively took a step back, he turned back to Aramis and whispered "I am not finished with you yet, musketeer." Aramis choose not to respond, he did not want to anger the crazed man further.

…...

There was no concept of time in the cell, Rochefort could have been gone for hours or only a matter of minutes but to Aramis it all felt the same, just time spent waiting for his rescuer. He heard shouting and stomping before he actually saw Rochefort but even just from the sound of his voice Aramis could tell that he was angry.

"Get the door open! NOW!" a flustered guard struggled with the keys that clanged and banged against the doors making even more noise.

"Ah Rochefort there was such a tranquil silence before you and your brutes disturbed it, would you mind leaving so that the silence can return" Slam, a fist collided with his face with a sickening thud, blood pooled in Aramis' mouth, he'd bitten his cheek. He instinctively spat the blood out without thinking, he looked up at Rochefort, a small splatter of blood covered his cheek. Aramis prepared for another punch.

Punch after punch collided with Aramis' body, he focused his attention on not crying out or grunting in hopes that the brutal assault would end quicker if he did not seem to be fazed by it. Rochefort finally stopped punching, having let all of his anger. Aramis moved slightly and felt a burning sensation run through his right rib, it was at least bruised if not broken.

"Put the weapons down behind him" some of the guards stepped forward each carrying an assortment of objects wrapped in cloth, every weapon looked a more intimidating shape than the other, even through the cloth Aramis could recognise guns and swords as well as the small objects that he knew could inflict a substantial amount of pain.

The guards dispersed leaving Aramis and Rochefort alone. Rochefort seemed to be stuck in his own head, his unfocused eyes staring at the floor, his whole body fixed into a fighting stance. Aramis dared not interrupt the man for fear that only bad could come from it.

Snapping out of his dream like state Rochefort disappeared behind Aramis, who tried desperately to see what was happening behind him but the chains restricted his view, in the end he settled listening to what was happening.

At first he could not hear anything then there was a sound, a crack, something hitting the floor with great force. For a moment Aramis imagined it was his captor's head splitting open on the floor, he smiled at the image that danced across his mind until it was blurred and distorted. The pain. It seemed to come out of nowhere as if no one had moved, but something had moved there was the sound again, crack. But it did not crack against the floor, this time it cracked against his skin. Still in shock Aramis' brain could not make sense of the overwhelming pain he was experiencing until Rochefort appeared in front of him, a whip in his hand.

Even Aramis had to admit it was a beautiful weapon. The leather had small metal spikes scattered across each individual strand. Some of the strands had red dripping off of them.

"This is similar to one of the weapons I had to endure during my time in prison." Rochefort informed Aramis as he almost stroked the weapon, "It leaves pretty patterns on the skin, although you'll never see them for yourself, you'll know they are there and every time you take a woman to bed to may hesitate before you reveal them to her. It will be a hesitation that will affect you more than you know. The high and mighty, woman's man Aramis suddenly afraid to take a woman to bed."

"Well I will not go against your judgement Rochefort. I am a high and mighty, ladies' man after all." He took pleasure in seeing his enemy's smile turn into a snarl.

Rochefort disappeared again and Aramis pulled against the chains to brace himself. Crack. Despite himself the musketeer let out a gut wrenching scream, crack, crack, crack. The screams of a tortured soul could be heard throughout the prison, they continued for hours.

As Rochefort brought the whip down for a final time, Aramis did not have enough energy to release a scream. His lungs felt sore and his throat as if he had swallowed shards of glass. All he could do was whimper in pain and grip the chains tighter to keep himself somewhat in the standing position. He found it hurt less if his back was tense and straight although that may have simply been because his body had frozen into that position and his limbs refused to move.

"You broke quicker than I anticipated Aramis. Your queen would be disappointed"

"Do not mention her to me you bastard!" it was a legitimate threat but Aramis had no energy left to make it forceful, it might as well have been coming from a child it sounded so weak. Rochefort laughed and placed a hand on Aramis' wounded shoulder his whole body jerked to one side causing pain to flare up again with vengeance. Rochefort pressed his thumb into the bullet wound, watching as blood oozed out around his thumb and drip down to join the blood already drying on the floor.

"Now, now musketeer, mean words will not help your situation." Aramis made himself look at his torturer, he wanted Rochefort to see the fight still gleaming in his eyes, but Rochefort never looked at him. He only looked at the wounds or blood, as if he was ashamed to look at Aramis, but he guessed he must be mistaken for Rochefort was enjoying the torture too much to be ashamed of it.

Rochefort removed his thumb from the wound and walked out not giving the prisoner a second glance. The prisoner however watched his every move and waited until the sound of footsteps turned to silence before allowing himself to relax. His muscles revelled as he finally let the chains take his full weight.

His back was thumping as if the wounds had a life of their own and were sounding the drums of battle but Aramis knew that it was his heart echoing through his body trying desperately to get the blood, which remained in his body, to his organs. Darkness started to creep into his field of vision, he welcomed and embraced it like a dear friend.