Fernand had returned to the tournament looking for Marie. When he woke and went to check on her, she was gone. He wasn’t entirely surprised, but damn it she wasn’t in a state to be walking around. He imagined what someone as stubborn as Simone would do, and then went to search the stalls for her. He wanted to make sure she was alright in the light of day, and also to make sure her attackers wouldn’t return.

When Fernand couldn’t find her, he began to think maybe she had just gone home. He got distracted, half watching the events. He had some things that needed to get done today, and he’d promised Simone he’d return at a reasonable hour so they could go over things. He was lost in his thoughts, trying to think things through for once. His eye fell on a flower seller, half smiling at the pops of color, permeating the air with a scent much better than the usual muck and filth. Marie might like those. They were sunny, and colorful, like her. He had been leaning against the corner of a building, standing up to push his hands into his jacket looking for his coin purse. It was just the thing to make her feel better, he decided. Simone couldn’t fault him that.

That’s when they grabbed him, pulling him back and into the alley, the cheers of the crowd and fighting obscuring any cries of shock he gave. His mouth was gagged, blindfolded as his head was shoved into a thick sack. No matter how he struggled, he couldn’t get free. There were too many hands. A fist slammed into his stomach, and he dropped. His hands were pressed together, tied so tightly the rope stung his wrists. He must have looked as if he were in prayer, sagging forward on his knees, hands clasped. The roar of the crowd faded as he was half dragged to what he assumed must be a carriage. Once inside a man grabbed his hair through the sack, pulling him up so he could be punched again in the stomach, followed by his face.

They’re going to kill me.The thought sprung into his mind, and he knew he had to get out of there. All he had to do was open the door, who cared if he fell to the street? He swung his arms out, striking someone. Gruff voices of the men called him bastard and traitor, and he kicked, striking another one of the men. At this point he was slammed into the floor, hands holding him down as he struggled and bucked against them. Is this what papa went through?

He had tried to keep a map of where they were in the city, but he’d lost track of the roads, twisting him around until he didn’t know which way they had come from. But then he heard it, the Seine. And bells, loud and close, from Notre Dame. He knew where they were then, following the new information to the garrison of the Red Guard. His stomach managed to sink even lower.

He was thrown into a room, his eyes still covered. With his hands tied, he couldn’t catch himself, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. A boot kicked him, and when he tried to curl up to protect himself, hands were grabbing him and pulling him straight again, kicking even harder. Their laughter echoed off the close stone walls, and Fernand’s spine felt as if it had been frozen. please, not again. Please, not this. They had tied his hands up over his head, looping the rope through a hook on the ceiling. His chin touched his chest, his head dangling down between his arms. There was ripping, and the feeling on air against his skin. “Looks like someone got to him before we did.”

Fernand tried to move somehow, hide the scars crossing his back. He had never shown them to anybody. They were a horrible reminder of what he’d already been though, and he hated them. For 12 summers he had sweated through the heat, keeping some sort of covering on his back at all times. But they were exposed now, for everyone in the room to see. A hand touched the skin and he pulled sharply away, to the laughter of the men. “Oh, the little bastard doesn’t like being touched, does he?” A hand grabbed at his face, the fabric rough against his skin as the grip tightened around his jaw. The gag had been a small mercy, muffling his cries of pain and giving him something to bite.