If Your Love Were A Grain Of Sand, Mine Would Be A Universe Of Beaches

Inigo's head was muzzy. What--what had happened? There had been the ship, and a storm, and a pain in his chest...

"Good morning," a voice said above him. It was deep and gentle, familiar as his own skin.

"Good morning, Fezzik," Inigo said, wondering why his voice sounded so rough and rusty. "How long have I slept?"

"Three days," Fezzik said. He was kneeling at the side of Inigo's--

Inigo's mind spun. He was in a bed. A warm, firm bed. Not on a ship. Not--

Three days?

He moved to sit up, but Fezzik's massive hand held him in place.

"Your wound opened up, my friend. We had to seek a healer." Fezzik's hand felt warm, too. "Are you feeling better? The healer says you must stay in bed, at least another day."

"Where are we?" Inigo asked. "Are we safe?"

"Westley believes we are, and he has sailed these waters for many years. He has visited this healer before."

"Yes, but that was when we weren't being chased by an army." Inigo's side burned. They didn't have time to deal with his injuries. "Perhaps you should leave without me. I can catch up later, or--"

"No," Fezzik said. "We have already made our decision. The ship is in a harbor that Westley says is very hard to find. If we are lucky, Humperdink will overpass us in his search. If we are not...we will make our stand here."

"That is not--" Inigo couldn't get up. It felt like fifty pounds were holding him in place if he tried to resist. "Fezzik. Don't die on my account."

"We will not die." Fezzik's smile was brighter than the sun, as always. "We haven't died yet, have we?"

"You only need to die once," Inigo said. "After that, everything is taken care of."

Fezzik chuckled. "It will not be too much longer, Inigo. They promised. And I believe the man in black. Don't you?"

"I suppose I do," Inigo said. And it certainly didn't feel like he had much choice in the matter.

"There is--" And now Fezzik looked concerned, unable to verbalize what he wanted to say. "I need to tell you--"

"Ah," Westley said, coming in. "He's finally woken up, has he?"

"He has," Fezzik said, rising. "He's well enough to argue with me. That's something, isn't it?"

"That it is," Westley said, clapping Fezzik on the shoulder. "I told you, Lachan has never steered me wrong."

"Yes," Fezzik said.

Westley frowned, that tiny frown that creased his brow for a moment and then faded away. "You haven't told him?"

"I was going to," Fezzik said. "And then you came in."

"What is this, that you're so determined not to tell me?"

"Well, with one thing and another--" Westley began, and was immediately interrupted by Fezzik's matter-of-fact "We're married."

"'We're?'" Inigo asked. "You and--wait, you--" He pointed at Fezzik. '"and... Westley?!"

"You and I," Fezzik said. He took his hand from Inigo's chest, and Inigo immediately missed the warm, reassuring weight. "It is...a bit complicated."

"Really, it's quite straightfoward," Westley said. "Lachan, the medicinest, said that the healing spell would be more effective were it strengthened by someone with a formal bond to you, and as none of us are related, and Buttercup has already endured a marriage ceremony she didn't want to participate in--not that you're not a noble warrior, or--"