A/N:In expectation of the coming season, I'd like to add a small winter story to our growing collection. I realized after I finished this that quite a few authors have been writing tales along the same premise, but I hope mine might stand on its own as much as any other heart-full story. As it is, I have written this in its entirity and will post in completeness before the week is out. It will be three or four chapters, so please feel free to follow if you enjoy. Thank you for your time :)

Disclaimer: I do not own or profit from any copyrighted aspects of this story.

He Was Never Left...

By: StriderX

Aramis knew that it would be long before he could sleep, after everything that happened; his brother's did, too. Of course he wouldn't say anything, and, at first, Athos and Porthos thought it best to give their brother his space…for a couple minutes, anyway. They knew their Aramis well. He was most assuredly among the bravest and valiant of all men who had ever walked the earth, but he was also a most uncommonly sensitive and gentle soul. Very few knew him well enough under his brash, philandering exterior to see it, but Athos and Porthos had no trouble. Treville saw it, too; a fact which he readily displayed when giving Athos explicit instructions for the three to take their time getting back to the garrison once they'd found their lost brother. Athos had no trouble following this order to the letter.

For they knew all the things about dear Aramis that the man himself pretended were not so. They knew he was afraid of being left behind, that he never slept well alone, and that his love-aching heart pained him nearly constantly.

These secret facts naturally made Athos inhumanly protective, Treville unendingly worried, and Porthos wishing nothing more than to wrap his brother in as may bear hugs as possible, just to make the smaller man smile. Though, being soldiers, these attitudes were rarely ever displayed, and even rarer still that all three hardened men so openly panicked at the same time.

That being said, when Aramis had been held prisoner by a madman, beaten, and left in the woods to die alone, his family had no greater cause than to find him, wrap him in the warmest blanket, and hold him until he healed.

Initially, upon his rescue, he had put up a greater front of nonchalance then Athos or Porthos would ever have thought possible…or healthy.

They'd found him sitting on the frozen ground, leaning painfully against a small snow drenched tree. This fact alone had Athos and Porthos alight with terror. Given Aramis's tragedy in Savoy, there was no worse environment for the gentle heart to have been abandoned. His captors had left him with a single loaded pistol (to do with what a dying man will); the sharpshooter used the last of his strength to shakily aim it into the glistening forest when a twig suddenly snapped in the distance. In the moment before Aramis realized it was his brothers coming to save him, they were able to see his face: his emotions true and unguarded. Fear rippled through his chocolate eyes and burned into the two Musketeer's hearts deeper than any brand or sword.

Without a conscious thought, Porthos called out to their lost brother and leapt from his horse, sprinting for him with Athos close behind.

The moment Porthos yelled, Aramis visibly deflated, pistol dropping and a trembling sigh escaping his lips. By the time Athos and Porthos slid to his side, a happy smile, though tight and tired, lit his face and eyes sparkled in old jest. "You're l-losing you touch," said Aramis, his voice light and lying even with the slur of cold and hitch of pain. "I could h-hear you a mi-ile away."

Together Athos and Porthos grinned with bated relief. So much emotion was stuck in their throats, neither one could come up with any reply. Porthos only wrapped a gentle arm around Aramis's shoulder while Athos ran a warm hand over their lost brother's hair. As gentle as they were, it didn't take long for Aramis to wince, and their worries instantly returned tenfold. "You're hurt," growled Porthos.

Aramis shook his head.

Not bothering to roll his eyes, Athos kept his hand grounded warmly at the back of Aramis's neck. The beaten man was far too cold. "You don't need to lie, Aramis. It's just us."

There was a terrible sigh, and Aramis's smile faltered for just a moment. "I'll be f-fine once we get out of this…this b-blasted cold."

Porthos and Athos exchanged a dark glance. They knew there was so much more to that one simple sentence than Aramis could possibly speak.

Taking charge, Athos bent a little to meet their wounded brother's eyes. "Then tell us what's hurt so we can help."

After throwing a heatless glare, Aramis closed his eyes and leaned his head back into Athos's hand. "A f-few bruises, mostly. Someth'ng's wr-wrong with m-my left ankle," Porthos could plainly see the frustration etched in Aramis's face. Whether it was for the uncharacteristic drawl and stutter of his speech or the self-loathing from his predicament; that was the question. If Porthos had to guess, he'd say it was probably both.

"Can you walk on it?" Porthos.

Still not bothering to open his eyes, Aramis shook his head. "Tried. I-it wasn't…graceful."

Porthos snorted a deep huff, his hand tightening around Aramis's shoulder. "You? Ungraceful? Blasphemy."

All three laughed for a moment, but it was Athos to sober first. Tearing his eyes back to the forest, he spotted their three horses hovering a few yards away. Though it was their custom to wander off when not tied, Athos thought with some pride that they must've understood the urgency of staying close. Maybe it was riding for days without barely a break, or the fact that Aramis's horse had been trotting behind without his rider…they just knew everything was not right. Truthfully, now that they'd found their lost brother, Athos was questioning bringing Aramis's beloved mare at all. Of course he'd be happy to see her, but Athos seriously doubted Aramis could ride on his own all the way back to Paris. But, he steeled himself. This was Aramis. And part of his healing would be riding out of here on his own horse, no matter how much pain it caused. "Well, ungraceful as it might be, it's far time to head home."

"Thank God for that," Aramis sighed truthfully.

Wordlessly, Porthos and Athos each took one of Aramis's arms and gently worked to pull their brother to his feet. Aramis gritted his teeth and grunted only slightly; an action the other two both knew meant he was hiding more than just bruises.

Once he was standing, Aramis realized just how much he didn't want to walk. Taking a breath he whistled sharply (though maybe a bit brokenly), and his mare, a sturdy black Percheron by the name of Trista, instantly came trotting toward them. Athos's response was barely to shake his head, while Porthos laughed heartily. "How you do that, I'll never know."

Aramis smiled, he really did, but they all knew it came out more of a grimace than anything. "It's all in trust, my im-patient friend," then, when he leaned out a trembling hand to pet the nose of his strong girl, Aramis truly did smile. "Trust your horse, and she will never let you down."

Porthos spared a look at his own mare and snickered even as she whinnied loudly and turned away. "I'll hav'ta work on that."

"C'mon then. Let's get you up on your trusted horse," chimed in Athos, eyeing the height of Trista's tall back with unease.

Aramis, apparently, had thought of this, too. Sucking in a short breath, he allowed his friends to steer him toward the mare's left side. Slowly, Porthos helped him life his arm up toward the pommel of the saddle as Athos steadied him. "You sure ya' wan'na try this?"

Aramis replied only with a nod as he mentally braced himself.

After trading a brief glance with Athos, Porthos leaned down, bracing himself to lift Aramis by his left knee, above the injured ankle. He tried not to think about how much it would still hurt his brother, especially since he largely doubted it was Aramis's only injury. "Count of three, yeah?"

The scene could have been heartening, if not for the pain involved. At three, Athos lifted poor Aramis by the waist while Porthos pushed up from his bent knee. For his part, Aramis gave it his all to pull himself into the saddle, but even as his eyes screwed shut and he struggled to bite back a scream, he knew he was failing miserably. In the end, it was Athos to help swing his right leg over the saddle and Porthos to keep him from falling back off when he swayed. After a few moments of bated silence as the brothers let Aramis catch his breath, Porthos gently patted Aramis's leg. "You good?"

While ashen and sallow, Aramis managed a tight smile as he forced himself to straighten and take up Trista's reigns. If Athos or Porthos noticed Aramis's hands shaking, they didn't say a word.

They both turned back to quickly hop on their own horses and separated wordlessly to make a place without question for Aramis between them. For once the stubborn soldier didn't argue, but merely let his mare wander to a nook tightly between the companions that were as close to her as their riders were to Aramis.

Athos knew it was at least two days ride to home that would no doubt be riddled with pain for his dear friend. Unfortunately, he also knew that for at least tonight, there would be no inn in sight. It certainly wasn't ideal for an injured man who bordered on the hypothermic as it was, but add a long history of snow-induced post-traumatic stress on top of that…

It would be a difficult night.

oooooooooooooooo

They were just an hour into their slow trek through the woods when Aramis started fading. Porthos could tell he'd been giving it everything he had: fighting to sit as tall as possible with an expression as close to normal as he could muster. He knew the poor lad just wanted to pretend the whole event never happened. But as the minutes trickled passed, his back curled a little more and features fell a little deeper with each snowy step of his horse. An absent hand had wrapped itself around his ribs and the other rested on his thigh; the reigns slipped loosely between his fingers, forgotten.

Cautiously, Porthos nudges in a bit closer and laid a hand on Aramis's slouching shoulder. "You still wit' us?"

Starting slightly, Aramis still attempted a smile, even despite himself. But it was not lost on either of his friends that, while a smirk had managed to reach his lips, he didn't move the least to straighten. Instantly, Porthos made an executive decision, surprising both Athos and Aramis alike, and drove his horse in front of Trista's path, stopping both his and Aramis's horses flat. While Athos raised a curious brow, Porthos was swinging off his mare and shifting toward Aramis.

"Wha're y'doing, P'thos?"

Completely ignoring the alarming slur to Aramis's weak fight, Porthos gently slid Aramis's injured foot forward, reached to bury his own foot in the stirrup, and mutely lifted himself onto the mare's back, just behind the saddle. It wasn't the most comfortable position, and Trista bristled a little at the added weight, but just the idea of being close to Aramis meant more right then than anything else.

Aramis tried to look affronted at the intrusion on his horse, but Athos could tell he was relieved. Especially so when Porthos silently reached around Aramis's waist, took the reins, and leaned in a bit closer. "Rest, mate. I got'cha."

Instantly relaxing back with a shuddered sigh, Aramis smiled tiredly. "Careful there…p-people migh' star't'talk," Aramis closed his eyes against the warm vibration at his back as his brother chuckled. Behind them, Athos picked up the reins of Porthos's horse and led her along with a smirk pulling at his eyes. They had a long road still yet to make camp for the night, but at least for now, Aramis could rest.

TBC...

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Reviews make my day, as do favorites :) Hope you've enjoyed to come back for the next chapter, to be posted soon!