Athos jerked awake, gasping for air and shivering with cold. He could not remember what he had dreamed of, but the grief that lingered heavily in his chest made him uneasy. The fire had burned down, and he could see his breath misting in the frosty predawn air. Forcing his stiff, aching body into motion, he staggered to his feet and silently threw more fuel onto the dying fire. Once the flames were crackling, he thawed his frozen hands and feet and watched his slumbering friends. At some point, Porthos had repositioned Aramis so that the marksman lay against his chest. The big man's arms were wrapped around Aramis under the blanket, supporting him and providing warmth. They appeared at peace. Athos burned the image into his mind.

Gathering up his bags, Athos again examined the provisions and firewood he had collected for Porthos and Aramis. As much as he wanted to check the health of the two sleeping men one final time, he instead led the horse out of the cave, feeling like a slinking thief in the night. He had already resolved to accomplish this task, and he did not want to cause his brothers any further consternation.

Swinging himself onto his tired horse's back with a bound shoulder was difficult, and in the end Athos discarded the sling that held his arm. The joint was still sore, but he thought it would be manageable. The fatigue that weighed him down was another matter; a full night's rest had barely made a dent in the damage wrought from consecutive days and nights of too much draining work and too little sleep. Athos blinked, trying to remove the grit from underneath his eyelids and inhaled deeply, hoping that the dry, frigid air would revive him. With a small nudge, he urged his reluctant horse away from the relative warmth of the cave and into the cold, dark morning.

As he had expected, Athos found that he was able to travel much faster when he did not have to accommodate the needs of his ailing companions. His pace was still not as fast enough to suit the urgency of his mission, but he could not risk moving faster without endangering his mount. The poor animal had suffered nearly as much as the Musketeers had, and Athos was unwilling to lose his best and fastest mode of transportation to hazardous footing on a difficult trail.

Dawn soon chased away the darkness with a flood of dazzling sunshine. The sky was a pure, clear blue and it contrasted beautifully with the unforgiving white peaks that surrounded him. Although the day was blindingly bright, there was little heat to be had from the remote sun. Athos huddled down into his cloak, his face wrapped in a scarf and his hood pulled up to protect his head. The wintry chill sapped his remaining strength, and his muscles were tense and sore from the perpetual shivering. His burial in the snow had leached whatever remaining heat had been left inside of him. Athos had nearly forgotten what it was like to be warm; the tavern he and Porthos had visited in Susa seemed like a distant dream.

Worse than the cold, however, was the hunger that cramped his stomach. It had settled as a painful, empty ache at his very center, and the tiny bites of travel provisions and large quantities of water that he had consumed did little to fill it. Athos had very rarely ever suffered from a lack of food, at least not by anything but choice. In the aftermath of her betrayal, when Athos had preferred to fill his belly with wine at the expense of other sustenance, a meal had always been close at hand. As hungry as he was, however, Porthos and Aramis were in far worse straits and so Athos had tried his best to ensure that their precious rations were distributed according to need.

As the sun rose higher into the sky, he tried to push away thoughts of what he was leaving behind, but was beginning to discover that the increasing distance between himself and his companions only made his worry worse. It had been a long time since Athos had to concern himself with the well-being of others. He was finding the sensation unpleasant, as it gnawed at him like a starving dog with a meatless bone. Athos wondered how Porthos' wound was holding, and whether Aramis' illness was growing worse. The previous evening, his decision to leave had seemed so clear, so right. But now he agonized over it. If he had been with them, he could have helped to care for friends. Out here in the frozen wilderness, all he could do was ride hard and hope that he was not making a terrible mistake. He tried to beat back his doubts that perhaps this was a foolish endeavor, one borne more out of desperation than good sense.

Despite his best efforts to stay alert and focused, deep weariness tugged at him and he slipped into a vacant numbness as the sun climbed high into the sky. He became used to the deep silence that wrapped around him, and so the sudden noise that penetrated his foggy brain made him jump in the saddle, forcing the world to snap back into place with sharp clarity. There were indistinct shouts that were echoing from the north side of valley, and Athos' empty stomach clenched as sudden fear surged through him. No, please no. Not now! Not when I am so close!

Athos kicked his heels into the mount, forcing the worn animal into a reckless gallop through the trampled snow. He simply could not afford to be caught here. Horse and rider flew along the trail, but it was not enough. There were shouts behind him now, and they grew louder. Icy wind whistled past his face and made his eyes water, but Athos simply grit his teeth, clinging to his horse's neck and spurring it on as a flood of adrenaline gave him new life.

The explosive bark of a shot fired echoed startlingly through the valley. Athos flinched with the expectation of pain, but thankfully, none came. The ball had flown harmlessly by. The next shot, however landed under his horse's hooves. The projectile hit the ground and in a white explosion and the shock of it caused Athos' mount to stumble. With a frightened whinny, the horse went down heavily, unable to find its footing in the slippery snow. Athos tried to leap free of his stirrups but one boot became tangled and he was unable to kick free. Athos landed badly and an anguished cry was torn from his throat as his loose shoulder popped free of its joint once more and his leg cracked loudly under his fallen horse. His head bounced hard off the icy surface and Athos lay panting on the snow, his vision darkening around the edges as shock numbed his senses. Floating voices came ever closer and Athos clawed at the ground, desperate to pull himself away before he could be captured. It was not to be, however. The weight on his leg was too heavy, and he simply did not have the strength. And so he lay helpless, staring up into the piercingly bright sky and at the menacing figures that loomed over him.

"Careful, he is still alive," one of the voices said. It was deep and rumbling. It reminded him of Porthos.

"Please, no," he groaned. "No."

"Who are you?" One figure crouched down over him and Athos stared blearily into dark, wary eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"You can't," Athos whispered. "They need help."

"Who needs help? Who are you?"

He couldn't tell them. They would find Aramis and Porthos and they would kill his friends. Assuming they were not dead already. "I am sorry," Athos sighed. He fought against the undertow of pain and exhaustion that threatened to pull him under, but he was rapidly losing the battle.

"Sorry for what?"

It wasn't enough. Forgive me.

Aramis thought he might have been having a pleasant dream before waking to harsh reality. Or perhaps he was dreaming now. Aramis strongly preferred the latter scenario. It would mean that he was not trapped in a dreary cave, and that the breathtaking ache in his chest was a nightmare that could be easily banished with the blink of an eye.

He shifted his weight and found that he was leaning against something soft and warm. It moved up and down gently in a rhythm that nearly lulled him back to sleep. It felt like...Porthos?

"Porthos." His voice was nothing more than a raspy whisper. Aramis cleared his throat and grimaced at the grating pain. He swallowed back something that was slick and metallic. Aramis tried again, louder this time. "Porthos."

Still no answer. Something was wrong, but his sluggish mind could not seem to string together a coherent set of thoughts. Aramis struggled to push himself up and was gasping by the time he accomplished his small task. He could feel irritation burbling in his lungs, and he tried to suppress the coughs he knew were coming, but it was useless. The fit overtook him and Aramis collapsed onto his side as unbearable pain exploded through his ribs. He already knew there was nothing he could do to stop it once it started, so he simply let himself go and drifted until it ended. Once over, Aramis curled up in agony. Something was wrapped tightly around his ribcage and was preventing him from getting enough air. Panic began to build as he black dots started to crowd his vision.

"Breathe, Aramis. Slowly now, in and out."

Aramis gradually became aware of Porthos' low rumble as it softly repeated the same words, over and over. He felt something lightly tapping his arm in the same cadence and forced himself to match it. In. Out. In. Out.

"My ribs," he croaked. "What happened?"

"You said you cracked them in the avalanche."

"Oh."

Once he no longer felt like he was in danger of passing out, Aramis rolled onto his back with a groan. "I called your name. You didn't answer me," he said weakly.

"Sorry about that," Porthos said. "How about we get you off the cold ground, yeah?" Aramis did not have much of a choice as Porthos gently lifted him without waiting for an answer. Porthos was careful not to put pressure on his ribcage as he helped Aramis lean up against a pile of saddlebags. The marksman tried to help, but found he had no strength to do anything other to wheeze painfully and bite back the coughing that threatened to erupt once more. The change in position exhausted him.

"Do you think you can eat something?" Aramis wanted to refuse, but the hope in Porthos' voice made him reconsider.

"Perhaps I can try," he hedged. Aramis watched through heavily lidded eyes as Porthos crawled over to the fire and poured something into a small tin cup. Sleep was a siren and it called seductively called to him, but he held it off. Something in Aramis urged him to spend as much time as he could in the company of his brother. The big man offered the cup to Aramis, who clutched at it with trembling fingers. The taste of the broth made Aramis nauseous, but the steam rising from the cup seemed to soothe his tortured lungs.

"You need to drink for it to help, Aramis," Porthos insisted. "Inhaling it won't do anything."

Aramis shrugged. The heat emanating from the liquid felt wonderful against his hands. "Are you alright? Why didn't you answer me?"

"Just sleeping, 'Mis. Nothing to worry about." Except that Aramis was worried. Even through the haze of his fever-addled mind, he could plainly see that Porthos was struggling. His creased brow and bent posture suggested as much.

"Shoulder?" Aramis inquired.

"It is fine, Aramis. Save your strength. And finish that cup."

"You are a poor liar, Porthos." One would have thought that his education in the Court would have made Porthos better at deception, but Aramis had always found him to be an open book. "Where is Athos?"

Porthos gave him a strange, concerned look. "Athos left, Aramis. Remember?"

No, he did not remember. "He left? By himself?" A strong surge of anxiety lent Aramis the strength to sit up straight. Hot broth sloshed over the edge of the cup. "Why?"

"To get help. We discussed this a few hours ago. When you last woke." A deep furrow creased Porthos' brow.

"And you let him go? By himself?" Aramis sagged back against the saddle bags as the rush of energy quickly abandoned him.

"I had to, 'Mis. We had no choice." Porthos pressed his fingers against his temples, as if warding off a headache.

"But why?" Aramis felt so frustratingly slow, as if his thoughts were wading through hot tar. He did not have much time, but he needed to know. What had begun as an annoyance, snapping feebly at his heels, had rapidly and uncontrollably grown into a tireless monster that threatened to consume him. Aramis could feel the sickness clawing at him, trying to push him back under. He vaguely realized that at some point very soon, it would drag him down so deep that he would not be able to surface again. "It is dangerous. You should have gone with him."

Porthos shook his head. "I needed to stay here with you."

The light finally reached him, and Aramis let his head drop back with regret. "You should have left me here," he murmured. "I would have expected Athos to know better."

"Athos does, and that is why he went," Porthos said adamantly. "All for one, brother. That applies to you, same as any Musketeer."

Aramis shut his eyes against the odds they were facing. "And one for all," he whispered regretfully. Savoy would claim him after all, and he was loathe to see his brothers go down with him. "I would have gladly been that one."

A large, calloused palm pressed carefully against his forehead. Aramis marveled at how someone with such strength could be so gentle when necessary. He had heavily relied on both qualities in the past year. "That is the fever talking," Porthos said. "Rest now."

There were so many things Aramis thought that he should do. He should have checked on Porthos' wound, should have made his friend understand that he was waiting around to carry a dead man back to France. He should have convinced Porthos to leave while he still had a chance. Instead, Aramis did none of these things. Overwhelming lethargy pressed down on the marksman. He felt like he was suffocating under the weight of it. "Sorry," he apologized.

"Don't be. I trust Athos. He will be back for us, Aramis." The fierce faith in Porthos' words elicited a faint note of surprise in Aramis.

"I hope so," Aramis sighed. His tentative grip on consciousness was rapidly loosening. "I hope he comes back for you."

"He will come back for us," Porthos corrected. But Aramis did not hear. He was already gone.

Well, it doesn't seem anyone is doing well at all, but the end may finally be in sight. Whether that end is good or bad, I guess we'll have to see. :D Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and thank you for reading!