In the days Aramis waited for the other three to complete thier tasks and return to the house, Grimaud took full advantage of the fact the Minister was the only one there. He had him dragged upstairs more than once a day to get beaten up and then cleaned up before doing it again. It became an endless cycle. Aramis didn't seem to notice it after a while and was too faint and dizzy to do anything about it. He let it happen, knowing nothing he could do would stop Georges hurting him.
The long hours he spent down in the cellar were spent in pain and in silence. He had no energy to fight back, even to think. His mind was a complete mess that even he, the calmest and most reasonable of the four, couldn't comprehend.
He had become so ill and complacent that Grimaud had even allowed him to stay unchained. He knew Aramis wasn't going to try anything. This was exactly where he wanted him.
Aramis knew one thing for certain, no matter how messed up his mind was. He wanted peace and space to recover. He wanted desperately to return to Paris and regain his duties. He wanted his friends back safe where he could care for them.
It was the fourth day after Sylvie leaving. Aramis had just taken a fresh beating and was downstairs in the cellar. Meanwhile, a man had arrived at the house, accompanied by two guards. Athos had returned after killing both of the men Grimaud wanted him to. Georges met him at the door and the two of them went inside.
"Done?" Grimaud asked.
"Done," Athos replied.
"He can wait in the cellar until the others return." A man approached Athos with chains. "No. Leave him. He can deal with the other one." Athos was lead downstairs and shown into the cellar. The door was locked and the guard left.
"Sylvie? Aramis? Sylvie! Where are you?" Athos yelled desperately. Then he heard a groan from the other side of the cellar. There was still light seeping through the windows so he could see his friend clearly. He ran over to where Aramis sat, his back against the wall, his head bent over his chest, unresponsive.
"Oh God Aramis. Sylvie!" He yelled again, frantically searching for her. "Aramis, where is she? For God's sake, wake up and tell me! What has he done with her? Is she dead? Tell me Aramis!" Athos shook his friend, trying to get him to talk.
"She left," Aramis coughed.
"Where? Where did she go?" Athos demanded.
"Paris, the Queen," Aramis whispered. "I fought Grimaud. Prize... Her freedom. I... I won. She left." Athos sighed.
"Oh, you idiot. Oh God. Aramis. You fool!" He slapped the Minister on his cheek. Aramis looked up slightly at this. "They'll have gone after her and killed her. She'll be dead. Do you realise what you've done?"
"If I refused... To fight... Grimaud would have killed her anyway. I had to chance it. She told me to." Athos' face softened slightly.
"So you would have had no choice either way."
"Mmm."
"And what's he done to you?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Aramis groaned. His head thumped.
"We'll get through this my friend. Porthos and D'Artagnan should be back within the next couple of days and then we can get the hell out of here." Athos patted Aramis' shoulder and sank onto the floor next to him. He looked on at his friend, worried.
The cellar door opened again and three guards entered the room. Two got hold of Aramis and dragged him out whilst the other kept a grip on Athos who was calling desperately after his friend. Once Aramis was out of sight, the other guard released Athos and slammed the cellar door in his face.
Athos paced around the cellar. Sylvie was gone. Aramis was upstairs right now, getting punched so hard he could barely speak. And all of it was Athos' fault. In his eyes, he was to blame for all of this. Things could have been different if he never returned to the Garrison and asked for thier help, if he'd dealt with the entire thing alone.
They had taken Sylvie whilst he had been out of thier house, drinking. He had come back to find the place empty and a letter left. It only told him where to come.
When he arrived at Grimaud's dwelling place, he had been relieved of his weapons before meeting the man. He was shocked when he saw the spitting image of Lucien Grimaud standing before him. He thought he had been dreaming. Lucien was dead. There was no way a ghost took his wife hostage. Then he heard the story, that the man before him was Lucien's brother.
Georges told him if he wanted Sylvie back to go to Paris and tell the three others to come back to his house with him.
For some unknown reason he knew Porthos was returning from war and ordered an attack on him as a warning. And that was what led to the events that followed.
The door opened and two guards with Aramis propped up between them, deposited the Minister on the back wall where he had been sitting when Athos found them. The guards left. Aramis had fresh, shining, red blood dripping from his nose and a cut in his cheek. He was also cradling his arm. There was something wrong with it. Athos had a handkerchief which he used to mop up his friend's face.
"I'm sorry, old friend. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be in this predicament now."
"You... You are not... To blame," Aramis replied, shakily and barely audible.
"Don't speak. It will hurt you more. We just have to pray D'Artagnan and Porthos get here soon. We need to get you help." Men brought thier two prisoners food and water. They left them to it. Athos had to raise the cup to Aramis' lips and tip it so liquid trickled into the Musketeers' mouth. Aramis, with the help of the former Captain, took tiny bites of bread until it hurt to swallow. Athos fed himself and moved the plates to one side.
"We'll be fine," he reassured Aramis. "We'll get back to Paris soon. All will be well," said Aramis.
"No it won't."
"It won't? Why won't it?" Aramis grumbled, looking at the blank expression on Athos' face. Something wasn't right. "What did he make you do?"
"The men he made me kill... Both were grieving fathers. Clairmont and Pierre. Both cadets who died when Lucien stormed the Garrison. Both innocent. They'd done nothing wrong. This stupid world we live in."
"It's OK. You're here... Now. Safe."
"Not from the memories. The nightmares."
"Something I know all too well my friend," Aramis remarked weakly.
"We'll get through it. Somehow. We will."