Putting this here now (a bit of a rushed job) so I can at least claim to have gotten through *half* of the prompts given for a month in an *entire* year. I'm killing this "challenge", aren't I. Also, hypothermia basically passes for 'very, very cold', right? It certainly does here. Did I mention a rushed job?

Please do excuse mistakes - they're bound to be plentiful.

(III) Hypothermia

Athos could hear voices - very many, very loud - and the clattering, confused movement of a crowd, filling up the corridor that for so long had been claimed by an ominous quiet. He had no sense of time, no understanding of what was happening. He was cold. So very cold.

A hand appeared out of nowhere to touch his cheek and he started, eyes opening with a gasp. Darkness greeted him: shadows hurling themselves at him and twisting, turning, warping into grotesque shapes; dancing and stomping as if on a carnival fairground - Athos squeezed his eyes shut, bile rising swiftly to his throat. The forgotten hand shifted to his shoulder, squeezing; flinching, he tried to push away from the intrusion. It was so cold - the ground, the wall - why was it so cold? There were voices, a great many of them, growing louder but out of tune - then something started to shift. It took time for him to realize that a weight was being taken off from over his legs. His hands clenched on their own accord to maintain their hold (did they?), but understanding of what was happening came to him very slow. Aramis. They were taking Aramis.

No...

"It's alright, Athos- "

"Leave him.." he slurred, but before he could do anything about it, Aramis was dragged away and Athos felt his hands fall helplessly to his lap. No! He made to lurch to the side to reclaim his friend, but fire erupted in his leg and it rent through him, cutting that stupor like a blade: he cried out, his body arching off from the wall.

Hands stopped him from crashing sideways to the ground.

Someone was swearing.

Pressure was put on his thigh and Athos jerked again, breath hitching in his throat: too much, the pain was too much (he felt hot and cold at the same time - fire and frost and pain and-- ARAMIS!) - then it retreated in great, sharp waves, tossing him mercilessly into a sea of ice. He gradually became aware of his own voice, lungs straining, chest heaving as he moaned in sharp, pitiful breaths.

"I've got you," said a tight voice, "I've got you, you're alright."

Someone was holding him.

Aramis-

"Porthos has him, Athos; we have you. Pass me a cloak!"

"Someone should ride to the village, find a surgeon -"

"Captain?"

d'Artagnan?

...d'Artagnan. Tréville.

Athos felt himself relaxing somehow.

The Gascon had appeared out of nowhere to kneel at his side, across from the captain who was supporting him, looking anxiously over. The captain barely even acknowledged him.

"Claude!" he snapped over his shoulder instead, "Bandages! Now!" Bandages came and the captain thrust some of them to d'Artagnan before gently leaving Athos's head to rest back against the wall.

"Let's stop you bleeding before we take you for a ride, shall we?" he asked softly, the sharp switch of tone only serving to make Athos feel more dizzy. Tréville began quickly unrolling a bandage and signaled d'Artagnan to do the same.

Aramis.. What of Aramis-

"He'll be fine, Athos," d'Artagnan said, voice thick with worry, fumbling with the bandage before reaching carefully for Athos's arm, "Porthos and Establet are taking care of him."

" 'ey," Porthos's voice floated over from somewhere nearby, sounding distracted but tinged with the same worry that seemed to be going around,"We got 'im, Athos - you be easy, yeah?"

Athos shifted his head minutely on the wall, trying to suppress another shiver and failing miserably. Freezing - he was freezing - so cold- he couldn't take this anymore.

"...else is he bleeding?"

"Athos? Stay awake, open your eyes."

"Needle's ready, Captain."

He would kill for a woolen blanket right now. Just a blanket - a cloak - something - just a bit of warmth...

"Here, here, drink."

Athos coughed and choked as a sweet liquid slipped past his tongue, swallowing greedily when he recognized its familiar warmth.

"We'll get you out of here soon, I promise, the captain just needs to sew your wound. Then we'll get both you and Aramis back home, just stay with me.."

Well.

The captain better hurry, then, Athos thought wryly. He sighed, wanting to pat the Gascon's arm, to signal his acceptance of the terms and calm his friend, but had no idea whether the arm was close enough, and no strength to carry out the task regardless. So he let the thought pass him by, watching it drift like a cloud.

The cold, wrapped around him like a cape, was softer now.

Would his nose fall off from his face when it froze, came the absurd thought, like those nose-less antique busts?

His toes... they were already breaking off from his feet.

Fingers...

They were safe, at least - some of them. They were enclasped in a firm, warm hand after all. So perhaps he'd preserve them.

"Don't fall asleep, Athos- don't do this-"

"Move that light closer, man...!"

"d'Artagnan, give him space-"

"...enough! Captain, we need to-"

A fading cacophony.

Needless as well. They were here.

There was no need for worry.

In his defense, Athos would later claim that he'd neither felt d'Artagnan's desperate efforts to keep him awake, nor had he even registered that he fell.