Note: Quote is from "Landfill" by Daughter. There's a verse from John Updike in the text too.

Chapter Eleven

So leave me in the cold
Wait until the snow covers me up
So I cannot move
So I'm just embedded in the frost

Aramis ran as fast as he could, shirking off the cloak and tearing open his shirt. He felt hot, in spite of the shivers, and his chest was tight. The cold air scorched the back of his throat. It was painful to take in, painful like everything else. Lightning seemed to strike down his limbs. His legs lost coordination, and he slowed to a stumbling pace once again.

Aramis just knew he had to get away, he had to reach the others. They were just ahead, just through those trees. All the way along he had been stalked by shadows. Faces seemed to hide behind trees, blending in with the snow dusted bark. Lost grey eyes watched his every move, peering from pale faces with shrunken skin. But when he looked again, they were gone. There was evidence they were there though. Aramis' feet caught on discarded weapons. Blades shining with blood. He couldn't touch them. He nearly bent to pick up a lost pauldron, it bore the fleur de lis, but it wasn't his, and as he walked along there were more. They scattered the ground, half buried in snow. Aramis knew if he counted there would be twenty, or would it be twenty one? Hollow eyes watched him wind around them. And then something wet trickled down the side of his face. Aramis put a hand to his head, but when he drew it away nothing stained his fingers… Still, the sensation of running blood lingered.

Aramis thought he felt a touch at his shoulder and he flinched at the burning sensation it brought. The forest was suffocating. There was no air between the trees. He staggered on a few more steps before startling to one side. The bleached bones of a skeletal hand reached from the ground towards him. After blinking furiously the bones melted away into the white branches of a fallen birch tree. Aramis rubbed at his eyes and took in a deep breath, only to cough it back out. He was warm, Marsac kept saying he was cold, but that wasn't right… he was too hot. Aramis stopped to wrestle out of his shirt. He discarded it and moved on. They would be late. Where was Marsac? Oh… he had told Marsac to leave him. No matter, he would make his own way there. The others were just through those trees.

Aramis burst out into a clearing to find it deserted. He whirled around in a panic. Where were they?! They had to be here! His eyes dropped to the ground, and then he found them… one by one, covered in a blanket of snow. The grey, hollow faces were here, sleeping eternally. Aramis dropped to his knees, held up only by the strength of his shaking arms, and he let out a sob. He had found his brothers. As he watched, blood seeped out across the white ground. Gaping wounds in rent flesh wept their blood away. Aramis flinched as a raven flew down, skimming his head with its inky, black feathers. It landed on Aubert, and delved its wicked beak deep into the man's ravaged throat. Before long another joined in, then another and another. Aramis couldn't find the strength to chase them away. They shrieked their awful cries and fluttered feathers against frozen skin. One landed in front of Aramis, it looked up at him with a shining, beady eye, as if trying to ascertain whether he was living or dead. Aramis felt his dull heart beat in his chest… it was slow. He counted each thud and there seemed a lifetime in between. And then he realised… the raven wasn't wondering. It was waiting.

Where was Marsac? He wasn't here, he had left. His pauldron lay discarded in the snow. Blood ran into Aramis' eyes. Marsac was supposed to be here, why would he go? Why would he leave them all dead and bleeding in the snow? Why didn't he help? Marsac! Aramis wasn't sure if he shouted or not. He felt so disjointed, he was a part of the world and yet stood apart from it. He could almost watch himself, bent over the cold ground, surrounded by such a grim scene. And then Aramis recalled telling Marsac to leave him alone. Suddenly regret washed through him. Marsac! I'm sorry! Come back!

More ravens gathered, they began to squawk and squabble with each other. But that one watched, still and silent. Waiting for his last breath. Would it tire? Should he try the patience of a raven? Maybe it would move in for a taste of the living while all around ate from the dead. But Aramis didn't feel like living. Every moment that passed dragged him down, each breath was harder to pull in than the one before. Eventually Aramis' arms gave out and his face crashed down into the snow. The raven hopped closer, examining his eyes. Aramis blinked, and tears began to run, blurring the black feathers that filled his vision. He felt others land on top of him. Sharp little claws needled his skin before they drove their hard beaks into his side. Still, that one watched and waited. Aramis gave a final, slow, exhale and it moved forwards with a shriek.

He was joining them at last. He would have his own blanket of snow. Twenty two pauldrons would now lie embedded in frost.

~oOo~

A distant crackling sound enticed Aramis to wakefulness. He stirred to find himself beneath a cloak, with his shirt on, and a warm body pressed against his own. His mind seemed a swirl of mist for a moment, until everything settled into place. Between one blink and the next a face filled his vision.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Athos…" He managed to bite out between chattering teeth.

Athos exhaled a relieved breath and lay back. "Thank God."

"What… happened?" His limbs ached viciously as warmth seeped back into them.

"You knocked me out, I came to and followed your trail to find you curled up, half dressed, and distraught in the snow. It's alright, it's just the cold. You'll be fine once you're warmed up."

Aramis shifted so he was facing Athos. A bruise stood out darkly on his pale face. The young musketeer reached out to brush his frozen fingers across it. "I'm sorry…"

"You weren't yourself."

"Still… I hit you."

"You thought I was Marsac. Now if anyone deserves hitting, it's him."

Aramis frowned, thinking back to the moment he detached from reality. "It was so real Athos… I could see them, watching from the trees, and then there was Marsac. He left me… I told him to go."

Aramis' eyes slid away, but they were drawn back to Athos when he put a hand to his friend's arm.

"The real Marsac left you. It was me you were telling to go, but I'm not him, I'm not going to leave you. I can promise you that."

Aramis gave a shaky smile. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Well, I can promise you I will never leave by my own choice, will that be enough?"

"That will do." They would be together if they had a choice in the matter. But Aramis knew all too well that choice often didn't come in to it. "Besides, maybe we'll end up dying together out here…"

That grim thought seemed to blossom in Aramis' mind, giving rise to a haunted expression. "Athos, what if we never get out? What if we die beneath these trees? We might lie here, and never be found."

"We're getting out." Athos' hard voice left it at that, and Aramis tried not to imagine them lying frozen and forgotten in the snow.

Aramis was loath to leave the comforting warmth of the fire, but they had to move on. They ate a little and he looked over Athos' wound, which thankfully seemed to be healing well without infection. And then they had to make a move. Though the fire was enticing, Aramis was eager to leave the woods behind.

Away from the fire the cold began to savagely bite at them again. They took turns with the cloak, but Aramis suspected Athos was leaving him with it a bit longer each time. Every now and then Athos would ask a quiet question - Who am I? - or - Where are you? - and normally Aramis would scoff at having to answer. He would have made fun of Athos, telling him he was the Queen of Spain, and that they were trudging through the Sahara. But now he merely whispered the truth… you are Athos, we are not in Savoy. Aramis didn't know exactly where they were - a wood that seemed as endless as hell itself - but he knew it wasn't Savoy, and that was good enough.

Still, as they forged their way through the trees Aramis thought he saw dead bodies concealed by snow. It fleetingly crossed his mind that maybe he should lie down to join them. But a closer look revealed the bodies to be nothing more than forest debris. Fallen tree trunks and branches lay in a masquerade of rigid limbs. No matter how much he kept reminding himself this was not Savoy, his mind seemed determined to drag him back there. Aramis came to realise that it would always be with him. It was always there, lurking deep down in his heart. The snow touched trees just brought it a little closer to the surface, where others might see. He would never be rid of this darkness. Would it follow him to the end of his days? Would he lie on his death bed as an old man, watching a raven watch him? He probably wouldn't make it to old age, but it would always be waiting. There were twenty two graves for the men of Savoy. Aramis stood on the edge, looking down into the darkness that waited to claim the last one.

Aramis sometimes felt like he wasn't living. He was just trying the patience of ravens.

~oOo~

When finally the trees thinned and the two musketeers emerged into a field Aramis felt like he could breathe again. The oppressive atmosphere fell away and a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. He looked back at Athos to find a small smile gracing the man's lips. For Athos that was about the equivalent of rolling around in the snow with glee. Aramis was tempted, but his cold, aching limbs wouldn't be too happy with him afterwards. The young musketeer took in a deep, relieved breath, only for it to catch in his throat and cough back out. He shot a furtive glance back at Athos to find the smile had died and a worried look had taken its place.

Aramis was relieved when Athos said nothing. Still, he felt that wouldn't last long. He turned his eyes forwards. A great expanse of glistening white stood at their feet. The sun hung low in the sky, it felt far away and fragile. Suddenly it brought to mind a verse Aramis had come across once long ago.

"The days are short, the sun a spark, hung thin between the dark and dark…" He spoke with a sombre tone.

Aramis missed reading poetry. He especially missed sitting by a fair maiden's bed reading poetry to her while they were both in a state of undress. In fact, reading to a lady had inadvertently led to him joining the musketeers. Although his subject matter back then had been a little more religious.

"It almost seems a shame to ruin the scene with our footsteps." Athos' voice broke into his thoughts.

"I never realised you were so sentimental about scenes of beauty." Aramis managed a sly smile.

"Well, I see them so rarely with you around."

"Touché my friend, shall we?" Aramis held a hand out to indicate the blanket of white before them.

The two musketeers began trudging once again, although their spirits seemed a little higher for being out of the woods. They stopped to eat a little, sharing the rations out sparingly. It was only enough to fend off their hunger for a short while. Hunger was something they had learned to live with, only when it became ravaging was the urge to eat too much. They had lost weight, and tiredness was a constant companion. Aramis often wished he could simply eat the grass like their horses had, but even the grass was short and lacking beneath the snow now. As they ploughed on the musketeers began to stumble and struggle. When one went down to their knees the other helped him up. It was done wordlessly, that was until Aramis went down and gave a raucous cough against his sleeve.

"You're coughing." Athos said pointedly as he offered a hand to Aramis.

Aramis would have commented on how astute Athos' powers of observation were, but he simply didn't have the energy to engage in such frivolity. "I'm alright… I'm not sick, if that's what you're thinking."

Not yet anyway. His chest felt tight, and his ribs were all but healed, but they ached terribly in the cold. Breathing was becoming an arduous task once again. Sickness felt like it was lingering at his shoulder, just waiting to take hold. With the lack of food and exertion it only seemed a matter of time.

"You would tell me if you were?" Athos' question was quiet. His voice seemed to have diminished with the rest of his body.

"Athos… you're suffering as much as I am." The man seemed blind to his own state of being. They were both as bad as each other.

"That's not an answer to my question."

"Didn't you promise not to worry?"

"I promised to worry less, not to stop worrying altogether." Athos noted wryly.

"Then… I will tell you." Aramis admitted reluctantly. "I'm alright for now, I can carry on."

"If you say so."

Eventually they came across a field surrounded by a small stone wall. It indicated they were moving on to land that somebody owned, and fields that were most likely worked by farmers. There would be people nearby, and that meant food and horses. Sure enough they spotted a village lying nestled in a distant valley. Athos suggested they wait until nightfall before approaching. Under cover of darkness it would be easier to get supplies and horses without being spotted. Something still seemed to bristle in Athos at the thought of stealing. When Aramis pointed out they would have to steal the horses he huffed about it a little and explained he simply didn't like taking from people who had worked hard for what they had and weren't much better off themselves. It was not honourable to take from those in need. But needs must. They had to steal or they would die, it was that simple.

When the sun went down the temperature dropped, and vicious shivering set in once again. They decided to stick together rather than split up, as it would be safer. The two musketeers approached the village and passed by several houses. Although the dwellings were all in darkness they walked slowly and carefully, taking to cover when it was available. Athos had noticed a man patrolling with a torch. If he were to raise the alarm it would all be over. Aramis wondered if they should preemptively tackle him, but Athos did not want to risk causing a commotion. Stealth was their friend right now.

So they crept along, making their way to the village square, where there were a couple of shops. The two musketeers crouched down behind some barrels, watching and waiting. Aramis was about to break cover and go to the door when Athos pulled him back suddenly. The flicker of a torch along the wall of a building across the square told of the watchman's approach. He waited at the corner, huffing and looking about impatiently.

"Sebastien! Where on earth have you been?"

A young lad ran up to the man, he was out of breath and very apologetic.

"I'm sorry, I was… I had to…"

"Don't tell me… Amelie right? Not that I can blame you…" He passed the torch to Sebastien. "A night between her legs is better than a night walking these streets any day."

"All's quiet then?"

"As the grave. I don't know why we have to keep doing this, those musketeers would be mad to come here now, but if the Cardinal's men tell you to do something, you do it... Goodnight Sebastien."

"Night Remi."

The young lad started his patrol as the other left.

Aramis spoke under his breath. "What did he mean - 'those musketeers would be mad to come here now'? Are the Cardinal's men still about?"

"I don't know. There's no sign of them. I suspect they've got the villagers keeping watch, so they don't have to. In any case, let's get what we came for and get out."

With the way clear Athos approached the shop door, it was locked as expected. So he stepped back and gave it a hefty kick. The door was not heavily constructed, but Athos didn't have much strength to put in to it… not any more. Aramis joined in with a blow or two, and finally it gave way. Aramis shut the door behind him and crouched down to keep watch while Athos went about filling their bag. Sebastien passed by once, and his attention was taken more by the stars than their break in. He would not present much of a problem.

That deed being done they left to find a couple of horses. Athos had spotted an inn with stables near the main road into the village. Hopefully there would be at least two patrons with riding horses. When they crept towards the stables it looked as if there were more than two patrons. In fact, an ass and a horse were tethered outside, there seemed to be no room for them within. Aramis took a quick glance around and then dashed over to the horse. A cursory examination revealed it was missing a shoe. It would turn up lame in short order with hard riding. They would have to take another, and so Athos led the way inside.

There wasn't a great number of stables, but all were occupied. The soft huffs of breath from each animal and their gentle movements in the straw gave a sense of serenity to the scene. Warmth rolled off the horses, heating the little building nicely despite the cold. Aramis could imagine lying down in the straw and falling asleep quite easily. He found a grey horse he liked the look of, there was a chestnut that was a bit on the small side and another older grey with a sway back. Athos was busy looking over the rest, no doubt he wanted the best the stable had to offer, but having found one Aramis set about tacking up. Luckily the horse's saddle was near to hand, slung over the barrier between stables. Aramis heaved it on and praised the horse as he opened his mouth for the bit. He was just about to lead the grey out of the stable when Athos called.

"Aramis, will you come here a moment?"

Aramis made his way to Athos, who was standing by a black horse, bridle in hand. It was a fine beast, nearly as good as Henri had been.

"You've picked well my friend, what's the matter?"

Athos looked slightly spooked. "Does it seem familiar to you?"

He had seen plenty of black horses over the years, especially in the musketeers. For some reason the regiment seemed to have a fondness for them. Well, they were easier to keep clean for one thing. The last grey Aramis had spent half of its life nearly black.

"No, should it?"

Athos stepped forwards then, he gently pulled the horse's head around and swept it's forelock aside. "I went to put the bridle on when I saw this…"

And suddenly it fell into place.

The horse had a faint star, just off to the right. It was distinctive enough for them to recognise it.

Aramis' mouth went dry, but he managed to whisper one word. "Hawthorn…"

Hawthorn was Treville's horse.