So I started this as a little snippet to a friend on twitter. It went something like... imagine Aramis on his knees, all bound and head pulled back, while the bad guys hurt him... and then suddenly I added plot and the whole thing spiralled out of control into this.

I am terribly nervous as I have never written anything long before.

I desperately need to thank canadiangarrison and chancfangirl for all the endless editing they tried to do and for their encouragement. Also I must thank Tessinciucy for loving just about anything I write :) I am truly out of my league with these ladies :)

This story is complete and will be finished, but for some minor edits as I go... because I am horrible with punctuation.

Also, I own nothing of which you recognize. Maybe the ladle? I'll own the ownership of that.

Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future ~ Fulton Oursler

He was forced to his knees in front of the monastery where he'd spent the last four years, their hands on his shoulders to keep him there. His hands had been bound behind him, very tight and Aramis could already feel his hands and fingers becoming numb from lack of blood.

They had come into the monastery wild and angry, looking for the former Musketeer. His fellow monk brothers had tried to hide him, but it hadn't taken long for Aramis to give himself up to protect the brothers. They'd dragged him through the main chapel proclaiming him unfit to pray before God, calling him all sorts of derogatory things relating to his former profession. That, of course, had incensed his fellow monks, but a quick shake of his head clearly stating to stay out of this had encouraged the brothers to back off. Aramis just hoped they weren't planning a full staged revolt in the Monastery. He had been a soldier a good portion of his life and knew how to fight; most of the men inside had been Monks their entire lives and they weren't built for fighting.

The bad guys, as Aramis had taken to calling them after they failed to introduce themselves, had professed their undying loyalty to Spain. Also their hatred of anything related to the France, its people and especially the mongrels that called themselves Musketeers. It amused Aramis to no end, despite being apart from his Musketeer brothers for years, how he was still pulled back into the inseparables dealings. Obviously these guys knew that Aramis was still close to them and was using the monk as bait to get Athos to comply with their wishes.

Despite the desire to destroy France, Aramis knew he'd seen the leader of this group before and he was frantically trying to remember where. He was pulled from his silent musings by a blow to the side of the head nearly knocking him over. Aramis sighed as it would only further aggravate the concussion they had given him upon his surrender. The leader was now yelling furiously at Aramis, his spittle flying everywhere, yelling obscenities and asking questions that he had to know wouldn't be answered by his captive. And if Aramis was being honest, he was ignoring the man in favour of trying to focus on getting the world to stop spinning and the funny looking moving dot of something far off in the distance.

"Enough," Aramis said loudly. "You should just kill me now, there is no way the musketeers will comply just because you are holding myself and the monks captive. The captain of the Musketeers is busy with the war, he will not come for me." Aramis hoped that they would see some reason behind his words, but it was immediately apparent they didn't. Aramis knew his friend would come despite the tense relations between the two of them these past four years. The Spanish leader's face scrunched up into a horrific, nightmarish expression and motioned to the men behind him. Aramis' head was pulled back by rough hands in his hair and he gasped at the stinging pain.

"You'd be surprised..." said the leader trailing off a moment as he glanced over his shoulder at that odd dot Aramis had seen a few moments ago, "At the lengths that those Musketeers would go to bargain for your life."

He ran his thumb down the side of Aramis' neck smiling as the marksman shuddered. "You see my dear Musketeer? Monk? Whatever you call yourself these days." The man sneered "Athos and his army will allow us into France unannounced in exchange for your monk brother's lives. You are the key to getting him here." The man looked at him a moment longer before speaking again. "You don't remember me do you Aramis? All those years ago? That day you claim the Spanish raided a small slumbering party of innocent men in Savoy?"

Aramis gasped as memories came flooding in against his will. He hadn't forgotten that mission in Savoy where all of his friends had been murdered in their sleep, he had, however, managed to gain some closure over the years and hadn't been plagued with visions in a long time.

"Yes I remember that night very clearly," he responded darkly, "I remember the murder of 20 Musketeers, actually 21. Just because Marsac died years after doesn't negate the fact that they were murdered and we were destroyed after that."

"Ah yes so you would say, but my memory of the events are very different. Tell me, Musketeer, had you made sure that all of those Spanish you slaughtered were dead? did you care that your colleagues had family waiting for them at home? Or was allowing my brothers gut to be sliced open and leaving him to die alone, a worthy sacrifice to allow your continued survival? Did you not think that Tobias could have been saved?"

Aramis' eyes widened. "T...Tobias was...was a great Musketeer he died trying to save his friends!"

"Oh there is no doubt that Tobias was a great Musketeer, he joined the second he turned of age. Left his Spanish-born family and defected to France. Your so called Captain had my brother so convinced of France's superiority he rarely spoke to us. And then you got to survive while my brother died for a country he loved more than you could possibly ever!" He spat venomously and then pulled out a length of rag and wrapped it firmly around Aramis' head effectively gagging him.

"You and your captain brought my brother to us and you couldn't be bothered to act even the slightest bit remorseful. You wouldn't even look my parents in the eye! Your Captain, however, did look at me and told me I'd make a great Musketeer someday. Why would I join a failure of a regiment, when the sole survivor couldn't even bear to die honorably among his comrades? I hated you and everything you stood for at that moment. I will have my revenge on you Musketeer, I will let your brothers watch you die and then I will kill Treville while he sleeps in his bed, thinking he is safe and sound"

Aramis grunted in a sudden rage, pulling at his bonds and struggling to get to his feet. He hadn't moved far before he received several swift kicks to his one knee. The pain was so intense it left the world around him blindingly white.

"That should prevent you from trying escape. Should that not deter you my men would be very happy to mimic this injury to your other knee." He turned around and walked forward a bit, staring off into the distance.

When the colours returned to the world and his anger stopped burning quite so harshly Aramis attempted to focus and noticed it had gone eerily quiet. He glanced around and finally laid eyes on Tobias' brother standing off to the side gazing into the distance. Aramis followed the man's gaze to see that his small funny looking dot had grown larger and he could now make out horses and men, but nothing further.

He decided to take this short reprieve to take stock of his injuries. He had several long gashes on his arms and a nice-sized bruise on his lower jaw, from a spectacular blow by one of the Spanish men. He could also feel the trickle of blood running down the side of his face and down on to his neck caused by the second blow to his head a few moments ago. It was hard to breathe Aramis noted, but he didn't suspect any of his ribs to be broken; more likely it was the angle that his arms were bound behind him and the multiple blows to his stomach that caused the shortness of breath. Those infernal hands were back in his hair holding his head in place and, of course, he couldn't forget his now useless knee which he suspected wouldn't hold any weight on it.

Aramis was again interrupted as his head was yanked again and he was manhandled to the side to kneel next to the leader. He could now hear the hoof beats of their impending company and was now curious as to whom it was, but the men had pulled his head back so far he couldn't see anything but the sun blazing down from a crystal clear blue sky. He was also surprised to note, a blade was now being held to his throat and berated himself for not paying attention.

It wasn't long before Aramis heard the group of men arrive and dismount their horses. They had obviously come in full armour because he could hear the clinking of metal as they walked towards this group of Spaniards. He also heard the unmistakable gasp from them upon seeing himself bound and bruised. He figured he looked fairly pitiful.

"Aramis?!" cried a very familiar voice.

"What have you done to him? What is this all about?" A second recognizable voice growled.

"I received a summons here to discuss a peaceful treaty amongst Douai and France," A third familiar voice stated quite dryly. "I was not aware that there was to be a hostage?"