My thanks, Uia, for your comments - I hope you are safe as well. I am unfortunately horrible at writing upon request but I will keep your suggestion in mind for a lighter mood.

For now, our friends are once again in dire straits.

Stranded / Harsh Weather

Where is he?

Night was falling. Beyond the small, dirty windowpane, Aramis watched the grim outline of the aspen trees shivering wildly in the wind. The leaves hissed without cease, like a malignant whisper conjuring a dark curse from the night; the branches creaked, adding their own chant towards the sky. Somewhere in the distance, the shutters of a derelict barn were banging.

Aramis bit the inside of his cheek.

The path ahead was draped in shadows, its deserted state a constant cause of concern for the marksman. He stared even more intently through the glass, willing d'Artagnan to appear, to come out from the woods, to materialize. It had been too long.

A hitching breath caused him to turn away from the window; a quick glance downwards had him hurrying to Athos's side. The swordsman was laid in a corner upon Porthos's cloak, his own and Aramis's pulled over him for warmth. It seemed a both unnecessary and inadequate measure: Athos was in the grip of a fever, his face flushed, his eyes resolutely closed.

"D'Artagnan.. "

Aramis pursed his lips in worry as he crouched down.

The moan was but a breathy whisper, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of Athos's brow he restlessly turned to the side. Aramis picked up the corner of the cloak and wiped away the moisture, taking in the state of his friend. It was not a heartening sight.

He reached down to press a hand on Athos's shoulder, offering what support he could.

"He'll be back."

But the reassurance was as much for himself.

The door was thrown open and Porthos appeared among a gush of wind, carrying an armful of firewood; closing the door with his foot, he hurried to depose his load near the empty grate, next to Athos's head. He set to building a fire, reaching into the hearth to shovel out the dirt and dust.

"How is he?" he asked gruffly, his voice muffled as he worked.

"Not well. No sign of d'Artagnan?"

"Nothin'."

Above them, the wind howled over the remaining few roof tiles, blowing through the clogged chimney to thrust up soot, making Porthos cough.

Athos's fingers were twitching.

"...d'Artagnan.."

"Athos.. Settle, mon ami."

"I'm goin' to get water." Rising to his feet, Porthos dusted his hands.

"In this storm?" Aramis frowned. "You shouldn't head out. We can make do with what we have."

"For drinkin' maybe. It won' be enough for Athos; we need to look after 'im - keep that wound clean. I'll be back." Picking up the cobweb-covered basin and pitcher he'd found, he left before Aramis could utter another word.

The marksman watched him go, feeling the manacles around his chest tightening even more as the door closed. As much as he'd have preferred for Porthos to not head into the storm, there was no telling when d'Artagnan would return (if d'Artagnan could return); preparations were needed if they were to spend the night in this small, deserted hut. Closing his eyes for a moment, Aramis forcefully pushed back against the growing anxiety gnawing at his insides; deliberately, he thought of a prayer of gratitude, for having found shelter before the storm broke. Opening his eyes, he returned to Athos's side. He felt the swordsman's skin once more, and placed a soaked rag back over the heated brow.

Be strong, Athos.

D'Artagnan will come - he is the most resourceful person you and I have ever known.

He felt the burden in his own heart lightening with that thought. If anyone could make it through the storm and bring help in time, it was d'Artagnan.

Hang on now. He will come.

The hour before dawn found a trio of silent men, one abed and two with their heads hanging low; Porthos's head shot up as a distant, muffled shout was heard, and he scrambled to his feet, lurching towards the door. As soon as it was yanked open, d'Artagnan - d'Artagnan shrouded in a large cape and wide-brimmed hat, drenched to the bone and a fire in his eyes - strode in like a man who owned the storm.

Porthos's eyes were thunder.

"Where have you been?" He pulled the Gascon into a crushing embrace before his furious growl had even died out. D'Artagnan thumped him on the back.

"I'm here now. Athos?"

"He's yet alive." Aramis climbed to his feet more slowly, his limbs having numbed, his face pale and gaunt. d'Artagnan nodded.

"I've brought a cart. The horses are saddled - let's get out of here."

Then without wasting more time, he purposefully strode to Athos's side.

In the light of the dying fire, Athos was lying deathly still, only the short, shallow breaths from his parted lips assuring d'Artagnan that he yet lived. Looking down at his friend, the Gascon felt his resolve crumble momentarily before summoning back his mask of calm; lowering himself down on his knees, he found Athos's hand under the cloak and gave it a squeeze. To his relief, Athos's eyes blinked open at the contact. D'Artagnan pushed the swordsman's hair back from his forehead and left his hand there. Athos was watching him through heavily lidded eyes.

"How are you?"

Cracked lips slowly moved, but when he could not make sound, Athos reached feebly to touch d'Artagnan's wrist, the look in his eyes speaking reassurance.

"Good." D'Artagnan bent low and pressed a kiss on the burning forehead. "Then we're going home."

God help him if anyone stood in his way.

He was taking Athos home.

Notes:

As rare as I direct my attention to d'Artagnan, each time, I rediscover how much I enjoy writing him. I may be eternally enamoured to Athos but I've grown to very much admire our Gascon, that's for sure.

I hope you are all staying safe and sane. Things have begun to tentatively 'normalize' here, though it's only going to get more difficult to keep people indoors as the weather warms. I find I'm turning more and more to the 'guilty pleasure' side of fanfiction these days -it's like a comfort blanket, whumping Athos- although I feel that my characterizations have gone a bit out of shape as I give in. My thanks for putting up with me, and I'd love to hear your thoughts, as always.

Until next time,