Summary: Stranded in a blizzard with a wounded Aramis, Athos wages war against the harbingers of death and defies it to take his brother.

A/N: Thank you Laureleaf, Jmp, and Uia for your reviews of the last chapter! I'm still thinking over your earlier prompt, Uia, but nothing's come to me yet on it. I'm not always able to write everything requested but I'm always happy to hear ideas! :)

"Do Not Go Gently"

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
—Dylan Thomas—

The wind howled and whistled like hounds baying at the door. The walls of the ramshackle cottage juddered under the force of the gales to the point that Athos feared they would come crashing down on his head and bury them in a grave of rotted wood and snow.

He moved closer to the meager fire sputtering in the hearth, his back pressed against the side of the mantelpiece. There was not even enough heat to seep into the stone and pierce his leathers. His body ached for wine and the warmth it would provide, but he had used what little he had left cleaning Aramis's wound, before they'd been caught in the blizzard and forced to take shelter in an abandoned cottage.

He gazed down at the man laid out in front of the hearth, as close to the fire as possible, both their cloaks draped over him. Athos had left the saddle blankets on their horses in the faint hope they would survive the weather, tucked away on the southern side of the cottage where the wall and close cropping of trees would hopefully provide enough protection from the frigid wind.

Aramis was pale, almost white like the frost on the single window, the sword slice along his ribs having depleted a fair amount of his blood store before the snowstorm had proven more hazardous. He'd held on, blindly trudging through the growing snow drifts as Athos had desperately sought shelter. Aramis had praised God when they'd come upon the cottage. His subsequent collapse neutralized whatever gratitude Athos might have conjured for the divine being. They were both nearly frozen, but Athos managed to light a fire and get them settled. All that was left to do was wait it out.

Aramis made a small sound of discomfort, eyes opening to half mast. Orange light reflected in the glassy pupils. Athos waited for them to focus.

Aramis slowly tracked his gaze around the room, shivering prominent under the cloaks. He shifted, only to wince and squeeze his eyes shut. "What happened?" he asked hoarsely.

"The blizzard came out of nowhere. We were fortunate to find this place before we both froze to death."

Aramis lolled his head back and forth. "I feel frozen."

Athos reached for a piece of wood and tossed it onto the fire to build it up some. "The blood loss can't be helping matters," he commented.

"Is that why my side is throbbing?"

Athos saw the bulge of his arm move under the coverings as he probed at his injured side. "We were attacked on the road, remember? Right before the storm hit."

"Mmm. Ambush," he mumbled.

"They must have taken a shortcut to head us off."

The Baron's men had been relentless in their pursuit, determined to steal the contracts the musketeers had been tasked with delivering to a neighboring lord. They'd decided to split up, Porthos and d'Artagnan taking the papers and an alternate route back to Paris from Athos and Aramis. The Baron's men had split up as well to give chase, but two musketeers had still been outnumbered. They'd barely gotten away with their lives.

Aramis gave a violent shudder. "It's so cold."

Athos leaned forward and tucked the cloaks tighter around the marksman's shoulders. He wished there was something more he could do, but he was shivering himself, his hands stiff even stuffed inside his gloves.

Aramis blinked up at him. "Marsac?"

Athos froze. "No," he said more sharply than he'd intended.

Aramis frowned, gaze drifting. "But…"

"Look at me. Aramis, look at me!" Athos seized his chin and forced his gaze back. "Say my name."

Aramis's chest hitched as he looked up at him in confusion and perhaps a little trepidation.

"Say my name," Athos repeated the order.

"Ath-Athos," he finally breathed.

Athos felt a flicker of relief that he was at least recognized. "I was not at Savoy. You are not there now. Do you understand?"

It took an extra moment for Aramis to nod in affirmation. His eyelids still fluttered dazedly though. "No, not Savoy," he said softly. He closed his eyes and moaned. "But it was cold there too. Cold like death. Death's come back for me."

Athos gripped his shoulder through the cloaks. "No. I won't let it."

o.0.o

The light was waning. It had been dark before but now the last of the pale light was leeching from the air as dusk descended. Athos got up to pace to keep himself awake. He knelt by Aramis and briskly rubbed his arms and legs in an effort to stimulate warmth, but he doubted it did much. It didn't even thaw his own aching appendages.

The storm seemed to worsen, or perhaps that was a reflection of his own tempestuous anxiety. He was a man used to control, authority, and responsibility. He abhorred feeling helpless. No more so than when a brother's life hung in the balance.

The wind screamed, echoing with a banshee's cry of heralded death. Athos would cross swords with the grim reaper himself to keep it at bay, but that was a ghostly visage painted in swirling ice and exhaustion, so he focused instead on keeping the fire fed.

Branches thumped against the outside walls, bony fingers scratching across the wood. Another squall slammed into the cottage and suddenly the glass window exploded in a shower of shards. The wind gusted in with a howl, a glacial force slapping Athos in the face. He scrambled across the room, grabbing the table and flipping it up, shoving the flat top over the gaping hole. The flimsy piece of furniture quivered under the assaulting storm.

There was a wardrobe in the corner and Athos pushed it over, bracing it behind the table to hold it steady. Cold seeped in around the edges but the pieces held. He turned just as the fire sputtered and dimmed, plunging the cottage into near complete darkness.

Athos's heart lurched, and he frantically snapped the legs off the table to throw into the hearth. The fire guttered, shadows from the walls stretching further, like claw appendages reaching toward where Aramis lay still like death. Athos felt a chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with temperature.

He snatched up the broken pieces of window frame from the floor and tossed them into the fireplace as well. Then he darted to the far corner where some books sat on a shelf and scooped those into his arms. Retreating back to the hearth, he ripped pages out in chunks after chunks and flung them in. No matter what, he could not let the fire die. He threw everything he could get his hands on into the fireplace until the flames were up and roaring again in rival of the storm outside.

o.0.o

Aramis woke sometime after that, when the fire had settled into a steady crackle. He was still far too pale and cold to the touch. Athos took a cup of warm water he'd melted from snow and lifted Aramis's head to help him drink. Aramis grimaced and coughed after only a few sips though, and Athos gingerly laid him back down.

"How's the pain?" he asked.

Aramis was quiet for a moment, perhaps not fully awake. "It's all right. It actually doesn't hurt anymore. It isn't even that cold."

Athos stiffened, his pulse point jumping against his throat. He knew those were very bad signs. Aramis would know too if he were more lucid. Athos pulled him up into his arms, holding tightly and trying to share body heat as he simultaneously scooted closer to the fire.

"It's peaceful, really," Aramis mused softly, his head heavy against Athos's shoulder. "I hadn't expected that."

"Don't you dare," Athos snarled, startling a wide-eyed look from him. "You are not to leave this world, Aramis. I do not give you permission."

Aramis gazed up at him in apparent confusion. Athos frantically grasped for something to keep his friend from slipping away, from giving up.

"Aramis, do not leave me alone in the snow and woods. Do not make this my Savoy."

It was perhaps cruel to invoke the name of the one thing that haunted Aramis more than anything, and Athos could see the war between past and present swirl in those dark, glassy eyes. Those memories could easily claim him, worn down as he was already. But Aramis swallowed hard and tried to nod. Athos felt stiff fingers grasp feebly at his doublet under the cloaks.

"Not…our time…to die."

Athos held tighter, tucking his chin over the head of curls and staring into the flames. "No. It's not."

o.0.o

Athos woke to tranquil silence save for the soft crackling of the fire that had burned low in the hearth. Cracks of pale grey suffused around the edges of the table leaning against the broken window.

He jerked in alarm as he registered the weight in his arms and frantically yanked a glove off with his teeth so he could reach for Aramis's face, moving down the pale jaw to the soft spot just underneath it. A languid pulse greeted him. He was unconscious, but breathing. Cold still, but not frozen. They'd survived the night.

Athos grimaced as he shifted his legs that had long since fallen asleep. He should get up, check to see if the horses survived the storm as well. They should get back on the road to Paris where Aramis could receive proper treatment and a warm bed.

But Athos couldn't move. Harsh tingles were zinging down his legs now as feeling began to return. Plus, he was irrationally hesitant to release his brother after clinging to him so fiercely in the face of death the night before. Aramis was still wounded and in dire need of help.

He caught the faint sounds of nickering outside and his shoulders sagged in relief. But then came the crunching of snow and he tensed. Who would be all the way out here after a storm like that?

"Aramis!" Porthos's voice boomed. "Athos!"

All manner of logic fled his brain at that blessed voice. "In here!" he shouted back.

The door was pushed open, spilling mid-morning light into the cottage. Athos squinted against the harsh glare amplified by the blazing white snow. It was briefly blocked as Porthos's large bulk filled the door frame, followed by d'Artagnan. Their eyes took in the scene and immediately turned worried.

"Oh God, is he…?" d'Artagnan asked urgently.

"Alive," Athos said. He's still alive.

Porthos knelt next to them and removed his glove to reach out and check for himself.

"The Baron's men caught up to us on the road," Athos went on. "Aramis was wounded and then the storm hit. What are you doing here?"

"We made it to a village before the blizzard whited out the road," d'Artagnan said. "But we were worried about you two. As soon as it cleared, we set off this morning retracing the route you'd set off on. We would've missed this place if we hadn't seen the horses through the trees."

"Then they're…?"

"Alive. Probably a bit miserable though. I'll get them ready so we can leave."

Athos nodded. Now that the responsibility had been taken from his shoulders, he found no reason to get off the floor, not while his brother still lay in his arms. Athos worried that letting him go now would forfeit the battle they'd fought so hard to win.

Porthos studied him with a knowing look. "Rough night?"

Athos didn't have words to express how rough it had been. Instead he canted his head down and lifted a stiff hand to tap Aramis's cheek. "Aramis? Wake up. Porthos and d'Artagnan are here."

He was rewarded with a muffled moan and fluttering eyelids.

"Rise an' shine, sleepin' beauty," Porthos said with a forced smile.

Aramis blinked at him in confusion for a long moment before shifting his gaze up to Athos. "We're still here?" he asked softly.

Athos's chest constricted. Pressing his hand to Aramis's above his heart, he nodded around the spiky lump in his throat. "We're all still here."