Prompt: Caught in a Storm
"Aramis," the call was breathless and dull, the sound almost lost in the crunch of snow beneath his horse's hooves, the unrelenting rush of the wind, D'Artagnan's rasping breaths. Aramis tightened his grip on the Gascon, barely conscious in his arms, and urged his horse forward.
"Aramis," the word came again, more insistent, more forceful. He ignored the echo of his name through the trees, the muffled words forming under the wind. He rode on through swirling snow.
"Aramis," it wasn't an order, it was a plea.
Drawing in a ragged breath, Aramis stopped his horse. Defeated, he dropped his head toward his chest, his hat blocking the snow from his face and to some degree from D'Artagnan's as well. He shifted his arm around the young swordsman, pulling him more center and tugging up the blue cloak that had fallen from over his chest. He listened for his name again but heard only wind and perhaps the faint jingle of the horse's tack from a rider behind him. Aramis closed his eyes, sorting out the sounds, the whispers from the wind.
Athos pulled up his mount alongside the marksman, silently helping with the cloak and brushing the accumulating snow from D'Artagnan's hair. Aramis watched him, uncertainty blooming in his eyes.
"How is he?" Athos asked but he shifted his hand from D'Artagnan's head to grip the marksman solidly by the wrist where Aramis clutched the young swordsman to his chest.
"The same," Aramis still did not look at him, "He is weak, the wound is deep. We have to get him out of these woods…" Aramis's voice trailed off as he lifted his head, eyes darting furtively around looking for something that Athos hoped he wouldn't see.
"We need shelter," Athos said, "And a fire. We may have lost the road, we will not last another hour in this storm." He felt the cold deep in his bones. They were losing the battle against the storm.
"We need to leave these woods," Aramis's eyes were distant, but his voice determined.
"We to make camp, start a fire…" Athos repeated the argument from earlier.
"No!" Aramis snapped his head back to Athos, his brown eyes wide, his gaze a mix of fear and determination. Athos had not seen this in a long time. The cold was getting to both of them. He felt his own despair creeping in the pit of his stomach. Heard a woman calling to him from a field of forget-me-nots . . .
"Aramis," Athos put his hand to the marksman's shoulder, squeezing as tightly as his cold hands could grip as he pushed through the fog settling in his own mind, "We are stopping. You need to help me find a place to shelter. I need your help."
Aramis looked as if he wanted to speak, but instead squeezed his eyes shut and gave a small shake of his head. Something was warring in his mind, Aramis was fighting the demons that resided there. His distress was heartbreaking but it only made Athos more determined. He gave the marksman a small shake.
"Tell me," Athos commanded, but it was a gentle order born of compassion not frustration. Because of course Athos already knew the answer. Aramis sighed deeply, almost a cry, and let his eyes find Athos's again. The despair there brought back too many memories for Athos but he steadfastedly held the marksman's gaze.
"Not another one," Aramis said softly, "I cannot lose another brother to the snow."
"He will not die here, Aramis, I promise you," Athos spoke the words with the sharpness of a sword cut.
"You cannot know that," Aramis looked tired, weary from the ride, from the thoughts in his head. He was on the edge as Athos was. The cold was killing them slowly.
"We will not let him," Athos said, emphasizing the first word, "You and I are stronger than this storm, stronger than his wound, stronger than your memories."
"Twenty died then," Aramis said, forlorn.
"You were alone," Athos said fiercely, "You are not alone now."
"No, I'm not," Aramis said, slowly nodding his head. Aramis moved his right hand to cover Athos's where it lay on his shoulder. "I'm not." Athos saw gratitude, deep unapologetic gratitude in his friend's eyes. He hoped Aramis saw the same in his. The marksman broke his gaze and again searched for something in the forest.
"Over to the right," Aramis said with a nod of his head, "That mound in the snow, that might be a place to shelter. There are rock formations all through these woods and that might be a fallen tree. Or wait, it's very flat at the top . . . A hunters' shelter maybe. That would be luck."
Athos squinted toward where the marksman was indicating but his eyes were not as sharp and he found nothing but blinding snow.
"Are you certain?" Athos asked, "I cannot see as well as you."
"No, my friend, you see most clearly," Aramis gave him a warm smile, "Let's get out of this storm."
