Chapter Text
The clicking and clobbering of hooves assaulted Inigo’s eardrums as he rode off. Usually he couldn’t be less bothered by noise, but this time was far different. It was a very different experience riding a horse while suffering the consequences of a successful revenge. Yes, he’d defeated Count Rugen, the six fingered man, the man he’d searched decades for, the man he’d trained years to kill. Yet he’d still been affected by the nobleman’s sword, the pain in his gut was excruciating, but the pounding in his skull must’ve been far worse. His mind wasn’t as sharp as usual, he could feel it. His eyelids had begun to feel 10 times heavier than normal, a wave of dizziness and nausea quickly followed after this sudden dampening of the mind. He groaned pitifully, his body arching forwards into the neck of the iridescent stallion below him to prevent him falling off the animal entirely. The padding of hooves slowly came to a stop, and an agitated snicker could be heard from one of the horses. Inigo could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness, yet he was unable to do anything. The last thing Inigo could remember before his fall from his horse was a familiar, deep voiced turk falling out something that sounded like this name.
Once inigo awoke, the stinging pain in his abdomen immediately hit him, giving the man no time to gather any information on where he was, how he got here, and if he still had all organs intact. He curled into himself with a pained grunt, soon noticing he had been placed on a small mattress. There was a deep, prominent crimson red stain from where he lay, and he could barely register it was from him. The Spaniard inhaled deeply before hoisting himself into a sitting position, blinking a few times, rubbing his eyes, then blinking again. Once his vision cleared, he could see he was on a ship, the walls were wooden and a few barrels lay scattered across the floor. He couldn’t tell exactly which area of this ship he was in, or what ship it even was, but at this moment, the most important issue was Fezzik. Had he been kidnapped and Fezzik left him behind? Maybe they’d all been kidnapped? Where was buttercup— and Westley? Before his mind could make up any more fearful possibilities, his gaze shifted toward left where his eyes landed upon a large man with tightly coiled hair and the largest hands he’d ever seen, sleeping with his hand pressed against his cheek on a small stool. Despite his delirium, he immediately recognized it as Fezzik. The pain subsided only for a moment, at least it seemed like it did when he knew he wasn’t alone.