Authors Note: I'm so humbled by all of the positive reviews and general kind words that I am receiving for this story. It is a wonderful motivator to continue writing. I hope that you enjoy this next chapter.

Rating Disclaimer: Also kinda spoilery for this chapter….. read with caution.

This chapter gets a little rough on our captive hero. I'm gonna give this chapter an M rating as a warning to people who may be uncomfortable reading about the whole torture thing. Let me know if you guys think if I should change the rating.

Disclaimer: The exceptional characters in this story (at least those you recognize) are the property of the BBC and their creator Alexander Dumas. While I'd like to claim them as my own, I am unable to do so without considerably emptying my savings account, and furthering my plunge into crippling debt.

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Chapter 7

Grim Gates

Dawn was breaking as the three men traveled in silence. The evening before had been a quiet one, as none wanted to voice the worried thoughts swirling through their heads. For each knew what the other was thinking. Raul watched the two men ahead of him, as they followed the now obvious trail, and tried to understand what they could be going through. The moment that the sun had begun to rise, Porthos had risen from his makeshift bed on the ground, and immediately started to break camp. Clearly he had not slept, although the same could be said for both himself and D'Artagnan.

He was not completely oblivious to loss, or rather the fear of losing the ones that you cared about most deeply. The young man had been a part of the Musketeer regiment for nearly 3 years and had lost many friends in their struggle to win the war. He had wanted to join as soon as word of the war reached his home, but family matters forced him to wait almost a year before he was able to leave, and by that time word had already spread of the most fierce and courageous regiment of soldiers that France had to offer. Originally Raul had planned to join the cavalry, but the Musketeer regiment seemingly called to him, as if it were where he were meant to be.

When he finally made it to the front, he had already heard a great deal of the men currently in his company. Stories had been told throughout his brief training, all had made him train even harder to be the best soldier that he could be. Thinking back on it now, Raul smiled to himself at the memories of what brought him here to this moment. He had been trained as a medic during his time at the front, but when they were transferred back to Paris, Aramis had taught him so much about how to save a life. If only he had known half of what he knows now, dozens more may have lived.

He looked again at two of the men whom the young medic had grown to idolize, and stared in awe at their determination. Here they were after a month apart, only having just grown used to one another again after four years of separation, having little doubt that they were in fact going to find their missing comrade, come up with a fool proof plan, and save Aramis from an increasingly grim fate. Nothing was going to stop that mindset, because, Raul believed, if they for a moment thought that they were going to be unsuccessful, all thoughts would turn to doubt and any attempt would be foiled before it even began.

These men were on a hunt: a desperate search to save an already tested friendship. For even now Raul could see more than just determination in Porthos' eyes. Anger? betrayal? A combination of the two? But there was no fear, which was perhaps the only thing keeping the senior Musketeer from losing any confidence he felt. He thought he might ask Porthos how he was doing. After a little thought however he determined that it would be a mistake. The only other time Raul had seen that look, or close to it at least, it was from the same man, but for concern of the man next to him.

About two years prior, just a few months after Raul had made it to the front,

D'Artagnan and 2 others had gone missing during a scouting excursion. They had been overdue by 4 days, and Porthos would not wait any longer to go searching. But the look in his eyes before he left, was almost identical to the one he saw now. Asking the man his feelings on the matter was far to dangerous an idea, even though, as Aramis had said once, it is just as important to treat the mind as it is the body…"Best not add fuel to the fire at present moment" Raul decided.

Movement in the distant sky forced Raul back to the present, They had exited the wooded area some hours ago and could see autumn leaves on the horizon. Currently they were surrounded by open fields of amber grain: not unlike the fields surrounding the little town in which both Porthos and D'Artagnan had almost lost their lives some months ago.

Several hilltops and miles away, Raul spotted several pillars of dispersing smoke, coming from the trees. There was more smoak than could come from one or two fires, it was enough to be coming from that of at least fifteen. He walked up to the other two, who were still actively watching the trail in front of them, in case of any changes.

"Up ahead, that is far to much smoke for a small camp, and the pillars are to close together to be from a village," he indicated the sky in the distance as he said this.

D'Artangnan and Porthos looked up when Raul first spoke, at the sky he was indicating. The two looked at one another in surprise. Both because they had missed such an obvious sign, and because they had almost forgot about Raul even being there, as the last few hours had been traveled in silence.

"How did we miss that," D'Artagnan asked almost to himself.

"Who cares that we missed it, as long as one of us noticed." Porthos turned to Raul, "well done" he said while placing a hand on the younger man's pauldroned shoulder.

"Now let's get going, it's a good enough sign of where this trail is headed, let's just get there!"

Porthos, ever a man of action, climbed back on to his horse and started to gallop away. The remaining two Musketeers looked at one another shrugged their shoulders, climbed on their own steeds and took off after him, no more than a trail of dust from the dry path to tell they were there.

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The shackles around Aramis' wrists were becoming more than a mild annoyance. They had finally started to feel normal again after being held prisoner by Grimauld, just before he left for this mission. But now they were quickly starting to regain some of that trauma. At least it wasn't nearly as painful as it HAD been when the entirety of his body weight was held suspended by nothing but his wrists, but painful nonetheless. Noise from the goings on outside of his prison drew Aramis' attention. Men going about their morning routines not a care in the world as to what was, or wasn't going on in this little shed. About nine hours had passed since being locked in, and during five of those hours Aramis had tried, and obviously failed, to free his bound hands, hence the pain.

It seemed like a good way to pass the time, while people were readying themselves for evening watch, and most of the force was sleeping. But as soon as what seemed to be sunrise started, it was hard to tell exactly when it started in his "room", it was a good idea to stop fiddling before someone came to check on him.

So Aramis waited, and waited, and waited some more. He was starting to think that they had forgotten about him when about 4 hours after sunrise, there was movement outside the door to his prison. Keys jingled and the sound of the door opening brought with it blinding streams of light which momentarily blinded him, despite the small window in the corner of his cell. Gabriel stepped through first, followed closely behind him were two other soldiers Aramis hadn't yet had the pleasure of meeting.

"Stand up," one of the other men said in broken French, but also gestured with his hands.

Knowing that refusal would do him no good, Aramis used his elbows to support himself against the wall and shakingly stood, his leg wound still hindering his movement.

The two soldiers walked forward and started releasing Aramis from the chain on the wall. His hands were resecured behind his back with a rough rope and he was led from his small prison and out into the glaring morning sun. There was some cloud cover, and a gentle breeze shook the different colored leaves from their trees, which littered the ground. For a fall day it was already incredibly warm out, which made Aramis all the more uncomfortable. The grip on his arms tightened as he was led to another small outbuilding that they had passed the previous day on his way to the stables. The soldiers around him continued going about their business, paying the small group no mind. In fact it looked as if they were going out of there way to avoid looking at them, which confused the captive musketeer.

A dip in the path made Aramis stumble briefly, which forced him to pay attention to where he was being led. When they entered this third building Aramis noticed that there were no windows, the building must have been used for storing grain and dried foods at some point. Unfortunately this made for the room itself to become a kind of sauna, it was well above ninety degrees, and was only going to get hotter as there were two torches burning on opposite walls, and several candles illuminating a small table on the far side of the room. Closing the door behind him Gabriel guided Aramis over to the center of the room where he was briefly released from his rope bonds and then resecured back in front of him. They were raised above his head after being attached to a meat hook and was then lifted to the point where his feet just barely able to be placed flat on the ground.

"At least my feet are touching the ground this time," Aramis thought to himself. His relief was however short lived as the chain, which Aramis had only just noticed, he was attached to was pulled higher by Gabriel and then secured to a supportive beam on the wall. The Musketeers feet were now only just touching the ground. If he stood on his toes it offered some relief, but his toes could only support his weight for a short period before giving out on him. His shoes were removed and thrown to the side of the room. Aramis tried to be thankful that nothing else had been taken off of him, but it was still early in the day, and at this point anything could happen. All that remained were his pants and white shirt along with his simple crucifix which he brought with him from the monastery.

Gabriel walked over to stand in front of his captive. He looked up at him, and Aramis stared back not giving and inch, or showing any fear despite knowing what was probably going to happen to him shortly.

"I will offer you this chance, before there is no turning back," Gabriel seemed almost concerned with the tone he was using.
"If you tell me the name of your contact in Spain, this need not go any further."

Aramis said nothing, not wanting to get his source killed. He simply raised his gaze to the wall behind Gabriel, closed his eyes, and started to silently pray to God for strength.

He heard Gabriel sigh and walk to where he previously stood by the pillar.

A fifth man entered the room not long after, which made Aramis open his eyes, but with his back to the door all he could see was the shadow the man cast on the wall.

"Leave us," was all he said, and the other three men walked out, Gabriel with one last glance at Aramis, closing the door behind them. The unknown man walked behind Aramis and set something down on the table to Aramis's right. He could only just make out the shape of the man as the shadow from his swaying suspended form was casting the man in darkness.

Aramis did his best to avoid growing feeling of fear rising inside of him. He had been tortured before, both physically and mentally. And while Rochfort hadn't had the chance for anything more than food deprivation and the occasional beating, the mental damage he caused still woke him up at night. But this felt... different. Every other time he had been captured or held against his will, Aramis knew that someone was coming for him, they had always come for him, like they knew he was in danger, even before it happened. But Aramis had no idea if the remainder of the letter had made it back to Paris, let alone if they could even interpret what it said, or if they could find his trail even if they figured out that Aramis was in trouble, or even if his captors had caught up with the horse and gotten the rest of the letter back.

All Aramis had was faith. Faith that whatever happened to him, his friends would never leave him in the hands of the enemy. Dead or alive Aramis had no doubt that no matter how much they disagreed at times, Athos, D'Artagnan, and Porthos would get him home where he belonged.

"Before we begin," the shadowed figure spoke to Aramis for the first time, "I would like for you to know that I take no pleasure in causing pain… Well… maybe some, but I am only doing my job as I know that you are doing yours. By the end of this, we shall see who is a more dedicated servant to their King."

Aramis caught the man's eye as he came to stand in front of him. He was holding several long thin metal objects in one hand, and a small dagger could be seen sheathed on his belt. Taking the dagger from said sheath, be brought the tip of it up to Aramis' chin and rested it on his throat. Aramis continued to lock eyes with him, hardly containing the desire to have the sharp object away from his person.

"Now, what is the name of your contact in Spain?"

Silence…

The knife was removed from his neck was then used to slice open the front of Aramis' shirt leaving his chest open and exposed.

"I'll ask you again, what is the name of the traitor?"

Again the man was met with silence.

A sharp pain made Aramis gasp. The dagger was forcing a tear in his skin from his ribs, down to the beltline on his trousers.

"Same question."
Aramis tried to prepare himself for the pain he knew would come, and said, "I believe you will soon find, that Musketeers do not easily break!"

A small smile appeared on the torturers face, "I am always up for a good challenge."

Without hesitation he plunged one of the long metal skewers into Aramis' torso. The object was long enough that it forced itself all the way through to the other side, through his back. Aramis bared his teeth in an attempt to stifle his screams. But before he could recover from the first, a second needle was inserted into his left armpit, also going through to the other side. Aramis roared in pain, and forced his eyes upward. A third needle soon followed, placed in his right armpit, and it felt as if the foreign objects were forcing the bones out of their joints. He could no longer hold back a scream of pure agony, but he soon replaced it with words of prayer. Asking God for the ability to survive yet another test. Aramis lost count of how many needles were now piercing his flesh and bone.

The man walked back over to the table, placing the remainder of the metal objects down and picking up another item in which Aramis could not yet see clearly. His vision was blurred from the pain, but he still tried to appear strong in front of his tormentor. His breath coming out in shuddering gasps, and despite the heat in the room, cold shivers racked Aramis' body.

He walked around to the back side of Aramis, and being unable to turn to see what he was doing, he patiently waited for more pain. He was not disappointed when the feeling of the needles were soon made excruciating once again as they were pulled the rest of the way through Aramis' body. One by one the needles were extracted, and Aramis gave up on trying not to scream. As when the objects were removed from his armpits the joints were completely disconnected from their proper place. All of the previous bravado Aramis had tried to show completely disappeared as he howled in pain and anguish. his full body weight now rested solely on the ability to keep is toes on the ground, or who knew if he would ever regain the use of his arms.

Unable to keep track of anything anymore, Aramis was surprised when the man was standing in front of him again. It appeared as though he was looking at the crucifix, now stained with blood, hanging around Aramis' neck. The simple wooden cross was a symbol for all who knew the faith that he was, or was once, a member of Holy Orders.
"You were a priest?"
He sounded genuinely surprised that a soldier could have considered a religious vocation.

"F.. for a t..time." Aramis tried to respond. And while it was not entirely true, this man didn't need to know that. He seemed impressed by the idea, but then another smile appeared on his face.
"I suppose what comes next will be a sort of irony for you then."
Taking hold of the cross the cord tying it around his neck was yanked off and it was then tossed to the ground near where his boots had landed. He soon returned from the table holding a whip, with what looked to be broken pieces of glass and bones embedded in the leather cords. Yes the irony was not lost on Aramis.

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Well there's the next chapter! Let me know if you guys think I should change the rating on this fic or not. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I also hope it was worth the wait. I know that my updates a fairly irregular but I do try with the time that I have. Thank you for the continued support, and I hope to update again within the next month or so. (but don't hold your breath ;) )