The cold had settled deep into Athos' bones, turning them into icicles that supported equally frozen muscles. He'd long given up trying to suppress the shivers that shook him as he simply did not have the energy to spare. The avalanche had thoroughly marked him, despite the brief amount of time he'd spent buried beneath it. Athos had found himself suspended in a sea of ice, much like an insect trapped in amber, and just as helpless. The weight of the snow had been enormous, and it seemed incredible that he might end up crushed by something that had always seemed to weightless when falling from the sky. Athos' mentally shied away from the memory of his glassy white tomb. He was alive. That was enough for now.
His injured shoulder throbbed with each staggering step despite being immobilized in a sling. They had finally completed the arduous journey down into the heart of the mountain pass, and the flatter terrain in the valley made travel infinitely easier. However, it was still covered a deep layer of untouched white, and Athos took it upon himself to try and break a trail for their remaining horse to follow. The poor beast had already been worked very hard, and it did not bear to think of what might happen if they lost it to exhaustion. Pushing through undisturbed snow was grueling work, so Athos put his head down, allowed his thoughts to empty and trusted his body to move by rote.
The sound of his name cut through the blankness of his mind, rousing him from his trance-like state. "Athos! Athos, stop, damn you!" It was Porthos' voice that was shouting at him, and the desperation in it made him halt and turn.
His tired brain did not immediately process what it was seeing. Aramis and Porthos had been following behind him, with the big man in the saddle and the other Musketeer walking by his side. The horse had come to a standstill, and a dark puddle lay by its hooves. It took too long to recognize that the puddle was Aramis, and the realization made his heart leap painfully in his chest.
"No," Athos breathed. He somehow dredged up the energy to break into a run, his legs churning clumsily as he raced for the downed marksman, fearful of what he might find. Porthos was already sliding awkwardly from the saddle and landed gracelessly next to his friend. Athos slid to his knees next to him as they both bent over Aramis' still form.
The marksman had landed face down in the snow and they carefully turned him over. Athos could not tell whether Aramis was still breathing. The marksman's hollow face was nearly as white as the landscape around them, and his lips were tinged with a frightening blue, but whether from cold or lack of air, Athos did not know. He sucked in a deep breath and firmly stomped down on his rising panic. "What is it? What happened?" Athos demanded.
"I don't know," Porthos yelled, loud and abrasive with panic. "He was walking one minute and on the ground the next. He just collapsed."
Athos yanked off his gloves as Porthos pulled Aramis' lifeless body up against his chest. Leaning in towards the marksman, Athos could see light puffs of mist that accompanied each of Aramis' short, shallow breaths. "He still breathes," Athos murmured. Despite evidence that his friend his was alive, he pressed his fingers lightly against Aramis' throat. He needed the reassurance. The slow, steady thump he felt was a relief, but the intense heat radiating from Aramis' skin was not. "He is feverish," Athos remarked, looking up at Porthos.
Porthos shook his head sorrowfully, tenderly brushing away the melting snow clinging to his brother's face and hair. "I should have forced him on that damn horse, even if I had to tie him into the saddle. I never should have let him walk."
Athos clasped Porthos' shoulder, forcing the other man to meet his eyes. "I do not think it would have mattered," the swordsman said quietly. "Aramis was already in poor condition when we found him. Perhaps this was inevitable."
The big man looked away, his brow creasing with regret. "Or perhaps we made the wrong decisions and made things worse."
Athos' mouth tightened. "Regardless, we must find shelter. We cannot continue on like this."
Both men lifted Aramis and somehow managed to situate him in the saddle in front of Porthos. The big man clasped his unconscious friend firmly, as if his tight grip could prevent Aramis from drifting away to where he could not follow. Athos silently trudged by them, occasionally peeling away to explore areas that he thought might provide decent refuge. He could tell from the strain on Porthos' face that holding up Aramis' slumping figure was causing pain to his wounded shoulder, but the big Musketeer unsurprisingly bore it without complaint.
Another hour passed before Athos was able to find a cave that was suitable for their needs. After ensuring that it was not occupied by any wild animals, he led Porthos and Aramis inside. Athos' own legs were shaking from the effort of walking all day on little food, even less sleep and the bewildering trauma of tumbling with an avalanche, but he forced them steady and focused on the tasks at hand. There was too much to be done, and no one else to do it.
They did their best to provide their ailing friend with some comfort, but what they could offer was meager at best. As Athos was settling a blanket over Aramis, the marksman noisily sucked in a lungful of air and came to life as he launched into a deep, endless coughing fit that Athos feared would push the fragile man over the edge. By the time it finally subsided, tears were streaming from Aramis' eyes and he sounded as if he was gasping for air from under the ocean. Crawling away from Athos and Porthos on trembling arms, he spat and collapsed to the ground, panting in pain.
"That can't be good, can it?" Porthos whispered, sharing a worried glance with Athos. The big man lay a soothing hand on the marksman's heaving back, trying to ensure that Aramis knew he was not alone.
Athos glanced at the blood-streaked glob that Aramis had expelled, trying not to let the sight of it rattle his nerves. "No, I would think not."
Despite the terrifying reminder of how ill their friend was, he seemed to rest more easily. Athos and Porthos propped Aramis up on a pile of saddlebags against the cave wall to help ease his breathing. As Athos was preparing to light another fire, the marksman opened his eyes and studied his surroundings with surprisingly lucid eyes.
"Where are we?" he croaked.
"In the shelter of a cave," Athos informed him, his hands busy even as he gave Aramis what he hoped was a warm smile. "We are still in Savoy." He did not bother to ask how Aramis was.
"Another one," Aramis rasped. He cleared his throat and winced. "I must admit that I like Savoy's caves. They have been quite accommodating." Aramis coughed again and let out a low moan of pain.
"It would be even more accommodating if they were on French soil. Or better yet, in Paris," Porthos rumbled as he made his way over to the marksman. He sat down next to the reclining Musketeer and lay the back of his hand on Aramis' forehead. "Too hot," he said with a frown.
"Strange, because I feel very cold," Aramis replied, his voice beginning to fade. A visible shudder ran through him as if to prove his point. "And very tired." The short conversation had clearly drained him, and he slipped away once more.
Athos anxiously studied his companions by the flickering light of the fire that he had coaxed to life. Porthos was dozing next to Aramis, his face ashen and lined with pain even as he relaxed towards sleep. And Aramis…he looked like a man clinging to the very end of his rope.
We are not going to make it. The thought struck him hard and clear. They are going to die here, surrounded by ice and far from home. Athos would have fallen to his knees had he not already been sitting. The former comte had never been one to dodge the truth, no matter how difficult, but he wished that this particular revelation had never found him, as it was now impossible to ignore.
Athos was aware that the life of a soldier demanded sacrifice. It was one of the reasons that he had joined the Musketeer regiment during his darkest days. If nothing else, Athos excelled at sacrificing, especially for the sake of duty. A Musketeer's life was not his own; it belonged to his King to be used however His Majesty saw fit. Should the King decide to use the life of his Musketeers for a particular cause, then it was a Musketeer's privilege to do as his King demanded. Athos knew this, and he took some measure of comfort in it, as did Aramis and Porthos. Should Aramis and Porthos die in the line of duty, he knew that both men would consider their lives well spent.
This, however, did not seem like a clean, meaningful death to Athos. Aramis and Porthos were fine Musketeers – fine men – and Athos found that he could not bear to watch their lives be wasted in a treacherous land for a mission that never existed. They are your responsibility, his mind firmly supplied. Should they die on your watch, their blood is on your hands. A Musketeer belonged to his King, but Athos was coming to learn that he also belonged to the men that fought by his side.
His mind made up, he went to Porthos and gently shook the big man's arm. "Porthos?"
One eye opened reluctantly and gave Athos a wary glare that turned into panic as he bolted upright. "What? Aramis?"
"No. He is resting."
"Oh." Porthos sagged back against the cave wall. "What is it, then?"
"I am going to go for help. We are not going to make it if we continue to travel together."
"What do you mean?" Confusion crossed Porthos' face. "You are going to go out there by yourself?"
"Yes. I believe we are close to the border. The French garrison that we stopped at before passing into Savoy should be nearby. I will be able to travel faster alone."
The big Musketeer's expression darkened. "No. Athos, that is a terrible idea."
"Perhaps, but it is the best option available to us." Athos glanced at Aramis and lowered his voice, despite the fact that the marksman was clearly oblivious. "Aramis cannot travel any farther, and he needs someone to care for him. We are also nearly out of food, Porthos."
Porthos stubbornly shook his head. "This territory is unfamiliar. What if you get lost? Or get caught in a storm? I can't let you do this. Aramis would not agree to it, either, and you know it."
They were excellent points. Unfortunately, none of them mattered to Athos. "Those are risks I am willing to take. If I go, we have a chance of surviving, no matter how small. If I do not, we have no chance at all."
"You can't," Porthos argued weakly, but Athos sensed that the other man was on the verge of capitulation.
"I can, and I will," Athos insisted quietly. "If you were in my place, you would do the same." He gave Porthos' arm a squeeze of commiseration. "Aramis will die if he does not receive help soon, Porthos. Let me get it for him."
Porthos closed his eyes and eventually gave a short nod. When he looked at Athos, the swordsman could see the dark eyes swimming with fear and helpless frustration. "At least wait until tomorrow morning," Porthos said.
"It would best to leave as soon as possible. Every hour counts."
"It will do no good if you break your neck wandering in the dark," Porthos countered. "Give me this, Athos. Please. Wait until daylight."
With another glance at Aramis' still form, Athos finally acquiesed. "I leave at first light." Or before, if he could. Athos turned away from the big man, intent on preparing for his journey and doing whatever he could to ease Porthos' workload in his absence. He was surprised when a firm hand gripped his wrist.
"Athos." Porthos heaved himself to his feet and stood unsteadily before the swordsman. He reached out and pulled Athos to his chest, swallowing the other man in a rough, tight embrace. "Thank you," Porthos murmured softly in his ear. "No matter what happens. Thank you, brother."
Athos tentatively wrapped his arms around Porthos and gave him a pat on the back. "You are welcome," Athos replied. Brother. "Although I ask that you to save your thanks for when I return."
He heard Porthos' low chuckle. It was a strange mix of amusement and sorrow. "I can do that," Porthos said. "I know Aramis will do the same. Right before he berates you for risking yourself on a reckless journey."
"We will appreciate the irony even if he does not," Athos replied. With a smirk, Porthos released him and sank back down to the ground. Athos felt oddly bereft when Porthos' arms fell away. Even wounded and hurting, Porthos exuded a warm strength that went beyond the physical. Athos understood why Aramis chose to lean on the man when he needed support.
After sharing a paltry meal with Porthos and persuading a half-conscious Aramis to drink, Athos settled next to the fire. As they no longer had to worry about the threat of pursuit, the swordsman allowed himself to relax and eventually fell into a restless sleep.
And things continue to roll downhill... Sorry it took me so long to upload a new chapter, meant to do so before leaving for a conference and ran out of time. I'll try to post the next chapter soon! Thank you to everyone that reviewed, and thanks for reading!