Elena's P.O.V.
Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years.
Time felt like an illusion in this turmoil of coldness, pain, and strain. Mostly I'm exposed to ache and yearning, something that makes the longings of my friend even heavier.
There was nothing more I wished for than to be with Hazel, to see her, to be around her, to talk to her. I missed her so badly, and I yearned for her presence.
She knew how to make me feel strong and in control of chaotic situations, and if she couldn't, she always had her ways to guarantee me some safety.
But if there was one thing that Hazel never failed to accomplish, it was to ensure me warmth and love.
Despite the pleasant presence of the Musketeers that I had befriended, I still missed my dear friend so painfully. I yearned to be with her, to listen to her comforting words and to just. . . have her around.
I could only imagine the thousands of missed calls and text messages from her, the worry she must be feeling. God, she's going to kill me.
Unless he does it first.
"So, what's it gonna be?" Captain Claes asked, crouching down to my level as I was splattered on the ground, still trying to recover from the second round this day. "It will be much easier for ye if ye just write that damn letter."
My throbbing head bruised my mind, making everything go around in a foggy circle. Every movement hurt, even essential actions like breathing was painful.
The silence made him angrier, which made me inwardly flinch as I was waiting for the next attack.
"Enough, Claes," Athos' French accent rang in the air, his words thick and sharp. "You will kill her if you continue this madness."
"Perhaps I should," he mumbled angrily, his glare piercing my back like a knife. "Is it really worth it, sweetheart? One way or another, the rat's gonna die. Why not just give up and start on that letter, aye?"
My hair was a sea of knots and tangles that was dyed with blood, but most of all, it was a curtain that shielded me from the world. Although I did not see the pirate's face, I could feel how his cold gaze challenged me to contradict him.
Tranquility was my answer, whether I wanted it or not, it was the only reply I had in hands. My voice and strength to talk were as bruised as my head and stomach: it needed time to recover.
"I'll let ye sleep on it, but I wish to hear yer answer first thing first in the morning," he then walked out of my cell, leaving me to my chains and turmoil of ache. "And, Doll, choose wisely. I'm getting tired of hurting my knuckles."
Finally, he left with the tension following him, resulting in the atmosphere turning light and easy.
"Ãliane, are you breathing?" Aramis' voice echoed, his question luminous in comparison to the dark, heavy air. "Do you want some cherries?"
If there is one thing that I have learned about Aramis, it's that he loves - and I mean loves - cherries. It's almost unhealthy.
"Aramis, this is serious," I could hear D'Artagnan's voice from the other side of the room, his French accent similar to the rest of the Musketeers.
I gave a pained laugh, wincing as I answered his first question, "Yeah, I think so." It was a nightmare to sit up. After mobilizing all the energy and consciousness I could find, the attempt succeeded - despite the shackles' endeavor to make me fail. "Damn, do I hate these chains."
This was much, much worse than the time I fell down the hill. By past experiences, I recognized the familiarity of broken bones and ugly wounds. The healing would take a long time. I could tell by how the first bruise I got on my cheek was still burning as if I just received it today.
"How are you?" Athos sighed, crouching to find eye-contact with me, but I could barely open one eye due to the contusion.
I felt so heavy and so tired that I could sleep longer than Sleeping Beauty. If there ever was a sleeping competition between Aurora and me, I would win that crown on the spot.
"You know, crazy chérie, you never told us about how you met le Prince Ethan Bauquemare." Aramis sat down, trying his best to direct my attention elsewhere, "Amuse us."
Despite the heavy torment, I still managed to smile at his words. "Oh, you guys better get comfy," I started, altering my gaze from one Musketeer to the other, "Because this is a long story."
***
"I do not get it," Porthos' face filtered bewilderment before it converted into curiosity. "How did you end up in a pile of rocks?"
A sheepish grin grew on my lips, "I know it's stupid, unlikely and as if it was a scene ripped from a book written by a teenager, but it happened - believe or not, it happened."
D'Artagnan shook his head, "But what about the wolf? Did it ever attack again?"
I shrugged my shoulders, listening to how the chains followed my actions.
"Is no one going to mention the fact that she almost killed the Prince of Areadan?" Aramis' query summoned laughs from all of us, converting the air into something warm and simple.
"Hey, to my defense, he started the entire thing."
That was the last words that were said before the room fell silent and peaceful. We were all just filling the empty cells, watching the time move slowly by.
How much longer is he going to keep me captured here? I thought for myself, trying to grasp the events that led to this. Why had I not noticed being stalked for months? When will I return home? Or perhaps the right question would be: will I ever return home?
The thought of never being able to see Emil, Aria, Carl, Francis, and Ethan saddened me. But most of all, the thought of never being able to see Hazel again broke my heart. She is the person who stands closest to me and who knows me inside out.
Not only did I worry about Francis and his health after what Captain Claes had put him through, but I was also anxious about Hazel. The only thing she knew about my summer plans was that I was going to Norway to visit my grandmother.
However, I never gave her time nor the dates. If the roles had been switched, I know for a fact that I would be pulling my hair for every second that I did not hear from Hazel.
Ever since we were children, we have grown on each other, knitted our personalities and souls into one heart. She's like the sister I never had, a family I never got to have. She's there for me all day and all night, always picks up my calls - no matter where the sun stands in the sky.
Therefore, it hurt to be away from her for so long. It was as if I had lost all the music in my life; no melody to keep me going, and no lyrics to comfort me.
If there is one thing I know for certain, it's that music is the most magical thing in the world - more than the entire time traveling phenomenon.
"What song is that?" Aramis broke the tranquility, his question catching me in perplex.
I gazed his blue eyes confusingly, "What?"
"The song you just hummed, what is it called?" He continued, trying to convert the air into a melody that mirrored the one I apparently had been buzzing about.
Did my thoughts about music actually make me sing unknowingly?
Either I'm really missing music or I have become mad.
Shaking my mind free from thoughts, I answered, "It's Hallelujah."
"It sounds like a magnifique chanson," D'Artagnan commented, looking at me through the forest of bars. "How does the rest of it go?"
My eyes narrowed in a suspicious stare, "Are you guys trying to get me to sing?"
Aramis gave a sheepish smile, grinning from ear to ear, "Why, Dame Ãliane, do you really believe that we would trick you into something like singing a chanson?" He looked at me for a while, "Oui. Oui, we will."
A quiet pause fell in the air, almost as if it was counting down until the bubble of silence broke. It wasn't before a smile grew that I found the hidden lyrics.
"Well, I heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?" I started, catching gleams and eyes of enchantment.
"Well, it goes like this
The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah.
"Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah. . ." The sight of Aramis swaying from side to side summoned an inward laughter that bubbled in my chest.
"Well, your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya.
"She tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips, she drew the Hallelujah." Due to what happened earlier and the chain around my neck, the song didn't go as high as I wished - but nevertheless, we all enjoyed it.
"Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah. . ." The blonde Musketeer joined me in the verse, singing the lines with a joyous tone filling the silent melody.
"Well, baby, I've been here before
I've seen this room and I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew ya.
"And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah."
Love is not a victory march. The line was painfully true, and I hated the fact that I was able to pin a memory on it.
"Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah. . .
"Well, there was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me, do ya?
"But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah.
"Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah. . ." This time, even D'Artagnan joined Aramis and me in the chorus, melting into the lyrics like a well-composed symphony.
"Well, maybe there's a God above
But all I've ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya.
"And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah." Despite my dry and hoarse voice, I still carried out the song, putting all the effort I could mobilize in the end.
"Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah. . ." We ended it there, singing the chorus together as if we were all different instruments that played tunes in a synchronized harmony.
Porthos and Athos did not miss a beat to applaud us, enjoying the scene we had put out for them to hear.
"It was sensationnel," the tallest of the Musketeer complimented, his face painted with a peaceful look.
"Why thank you, mon ours, I never thought I would hear such kind words from-"
"I was talking about Dame Elena, you idiot," Porthos snapped at Aramis, giving him an annoyed glare. "And how many times have I told you to not call me 'mon ours'?"
Athos leaned towards my cell, whispering with his thick accent to translate, "It means 'my bear'- a nickname that Porthos despise." His attention altered between the two Musketeers that cursed each other out in French, and D'Artagnan trying to interfere. He shook his head with a sigh before meeting my eyes, "Tell me something, Elena," his words were steady with the following tone of a query. "What will your answer be? Captain Claes is heartless and shows no mercy as we have witnessed. There is so much we can take, however, there is only so much a person can swallow and tolerate. We all have our limits, Elena, and I hope you understand that you cannot continue like this for much longer."
He was right - I knew it even before there were words to clarify the situation. Although my mind was prepared to take in another episode, my body and health were more than ready for the series to end.
And if it didn't stop. . . my nightmare of never seeing Hazel and my friends again would become a reality.
"I know I can't continue forever," for the first time, I spoke the bitter words that were toxic on my tongue. If there is one thing I hate, it is to be defeated, especially in a way like this. "But I can't let them hurt Ethan. He might be stupid, and irritating, and sarcastic, and weird, and sometimes overconfident - but he's my friend, Athos, and I can't. . . I just can't."
He did not pity nor cheer me. Instead, he looked at his friends, his eyes shining with a feeling of understanding. Athos and his friends were Musketeers; their jobs were filled with dangers and a high possibility of death.
I knew he found my words relatable - perhaps a bit too well.
"We will get out of here, Dame Elena, je vous promets," his eyes found my bruised ones, the steady eye-contact revealing the fire behind his hazel hue. "I promise you," he translated, stretching his hand out for me to shake. "You have the Musketeers' word of honor, and if there is one thing the Musketeers never fail to do, it is to fulfill our duties."
And I never doubted him nor his friends for their word.