A/N: I really meant to post this a day or two earlier, but circumstances didn't permit, so Athos and Aramis had to endure the cold winter's night a little longer. Sorry. ;-)

Chapter 12

Brothers

Athos was by Aramis' side in two quick strides, stopping his friend from sinking down on the snow-covered forest floor. "Not here. Come." Athos slung Aramis' arm around his shoulder, regardless of his own injury, and dragged him for a few meters until they reached a place that was shielded by a piece of rock on one side with a few thick bushes left and right of the boulder. It was not much, but provided at least some cover from possible trackers and kept off the wind. A big pine with spreading branches had kept the floor fairly dry and almost free of snow. By a lucky coincidence they had found the place just as Aramis' strength had yielded to his injuries.

"There, lean against the rock, it will be easier." Athos helped a violently shivering Aramis down to the ground, then slumped down beside him, moving closer to share their body heat.

Aramis had his eyes closed and didn't bother to open them when he spoke. "Go now. You know it's the only option. Find help and come back." The exhaustion took its toll and the words came out not as convincingly as planned, revealing with its timbre the hollow lie behind. No help for Aramis would arrive back in time. By now, the temperature had dropped way below zero. In such poor condition, loosing blood again from the reopened wound and the fever still rising, he would barely survive the night, and deep inside both men knew it. What Aramis didn't know for sure and only guessed was that it would take hours, on foot, to reach the next hamlet and ask for help and backup. Like in the old times, the abandoned former hunting lodge stood kilometers away from the next occupied building, in the middle of the natural preserve de l'Avesnois, widespread and sparsely populated.

Athos, on the other hand, knew for sure; remembering his long drive through forest and meadow until he had finally reached his goal, he knew they were in the middle of nowhere. He neither replied nor moved, apart from readjusting a little to sit more comfortably on the cold ground. The thick carpet of needles on moss-covered ground helped him to ignore the small, sharp rocks, the pine cones and twigs sticking out of the hard-frozen soil.

"Athos," Aramis urged, more determinedly.

"Will you stop now, for God's sake?" Athos said in a low voice. "Do you really want to debate this or just do both of us the favor of saving time and energy and accepting the fact that I won't leave you? If we go down, we'll go down together."

Aramis hadn't expected any less from Athos, but it didn't mean he had to like it. Debating with himself for a moment, he finally decided to let the issue drop. No matter what he said, it would have been wasted words. Athos would not be persuaded otherwise.

Athos waited a moment, but when there was no clever comeback from Aramis he moved away from the feverish man and got up. "Wait a second." He crawled forward on all fours, skinning his hands and knees on small stones and ice, and the movement caused searing pain to spread in his throbbing shoulder again, which he duly ignored. When he had found what he was looking for he scooped a handful of fresh snow and moved back to Aramis. "Here." He held his hands to Aramis' face, urging the other to take in the cold snow. Taking the chance that it might be dirty, contaminated with germs, pine needles or animal muck, it would deliver vital liquid though. And it might help bring the fever down, though there would never be enough snow for Aramis to get down his parched throat to compensate for the fluid loss he had suffered over the recent days and which the fever was still wringing from his body.

"Can you get more?" Aramis asked once he was finished. "That's a relief."

Athos repeated the procedure twice, eating some of the snow, too, to quench his thirst, before he stopped. "It's enough. Your stomach won't be able to take more of it. Later you can have another handful."

"Thanks," Aramis replied, closing his eyes. He rested his head back against the cold stone.

For a while, no one spoke.

"It's not fair," Aramis finally said.

Athos could hear the pain and exhaustion Aramis' voice carried, muting the tone, leaving no space for the usual charming witticism.

"Soon it'll be Christmas, and I will not be there. Will never be there. It would have been nice, just once, to spend Christmas with Anne and my son." Aramis turned his head fractionally so he could just glimpse at his friend beside him in the dark. "He is my son."

"Henri?"

"Yes. We believe he's reborn, too. It may be wishful thinking, but I'm convinced of it. I can feel it. And even if he's not, it doesn't matter. He is my son."

Aramis breathed heavily, though whether it was because of pain or emotion Athos didn't know. He turned his head to take a closer look at his friend, trying to make out anything in the darkness that lay over the forest like a thick blanket, barring the moonlight. The moon had disappeared behind a bank of clouds again and the temperature had dropped further with the north wind still whirling snowflakes over the ground.

"I'm sorry for this mess," Athos said. "I was caught unaware by Grimaud's helpers, I had not planned this through thoroughly. I have to admit I let the hatred I still feel for Grimaud get the better of me. This was probably the most ill-conceived and rash rescue attempt I've ever made. Forgive me."

Aramis snorted weakly. "That coming from a man who invaded Afghanistan. Never mind! It nearly worked. It was just bad luck the second guy showed up when he did. It's the thought that counts."

"I should have waited for backup. Porthos told me so. At least, I should have told Tréville before running off on a wild-goose chase. I thought I had this under control. Instead, I did exactly as Grimaud had planned, running right into his trap. And now look at us. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, injured, ill-equipped, no plan and exposed to this bloody freezing cold." The more he spoke the angrier Athos got with himself. How could he have been so stupid, so blinded by hate, channelled by arrogance that he had walked right into Grimaud's trap? Instead of saving Aramis he had ensured exactly the opposite, contributing to the other's potential death.

"Somehow or other, we're still soldiers. Soldiers die. For their king, for their country. For those they love. You of all people know this best," Aramis replied softly. "It's okay, it just would have been nice..." He trailed off. No need to point it out again.

"We'll get moving as soon as the first sliver of light is visible. If Grimaud has not found us by then, we stand a chance. Maybe he even left, or is searching in a completely different direction. I studied the maps. We went north, north-east and we should almost be on top of the hill that stretches behind the hunting house. If we turn due west from the highest point, there's a good chance we hit the road between Bavay and Poix-du-Nord. We can try to stop a car there, call help."

Aramis didn't reply. He was convinced for him there was no tomorrow. But he would try. If not for him, then at least for Anne and Henri.

"We must stay awake. If we sleep, we'll freeze to death. Let's talk," Athos said. His shoulder felt like a balloon on fire, with every heartbeat pain was pulsing through his body.

"Let me just nap for a moment, I'm tired to my bones."

"Don't, Aramis. If you fall asleep you'll never wake up again. Tell me about your sister. It seems she knows a lot about us, but you've never told us much about your family. Is she younger or older than you?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Athos was startled out of his doze by the sound of Aramis talking. His head jerked up, shocked he had obviously fallen asleep for a moment, despite his effort to keep them both awake. He had no idea how much time had passed since he had last spoken to Aramis, telling the other of his time in the Helmand province in Afghanistan. He waggled his feet, but couldn't feel them any more. He was sure he had never been so cold in his life.

"Can Samarra be avoided, I wonder?" Aramis mumbled into the quietness, almost inaudibly as if he was speaking to himself. "I always thought it was just a, you know, parable."

"What?" asked Athos, completely aroused from his stupor now, frowning. What was Aramis talking about?

"Did you know I had a dog?"

"What?" Athos asked again. "Is it the dog's name, Samarra?"

"Samarra? No, we called him Napoléon. He never learned tricks, however hard I tried. Maybe it was the water."

"What are you talking about?" Athos had the feeling his friend's feverish mind was starting to lose it. "This makes no sense."

"The..., the thing," Aramis replied impatiently. "You know, right? What was it we always called d'Artagnan?"

"Pup?" Athos suggested hesitantly, referring to Aramis' earlier mention of a dog.

"Right."

"Aramis, you're talking nonsense, you're aware of this, right?"

"Am not. No." There was a short pause until Aramis added, "Yeah, I guess I am. Was I talking about Napoléon? My head feels like a fluffy cloud of cotton wool. But I think the fever's going down. I'm really, really cold. It's a good sign, isn't it?"

Athos' heart dropped a little further. He reached over to touch his friend's forehead, already knowing from the heat Aramis was emitting and which kept Athos' torso almost cosy and warm at his friend's side, that the fever had, if anything, only increased over the last couple of hours. Nevertheless, he was shocked when he felt the fire burning on Aramis' forehead. It felt impossibly hot, given the surrounding temperature was minus ten degrees Celsius or more. Aramis above all should know that feeling really cold while suffering from high fever was never a good sign. "I'm afraid it isn't, mon ami," Athos replied gently and grabbed Aramis' hands, which lay lifeless in the other's lap. They felt like frozen stone. Athos started rubbing them as well as his numb fingers allowed it. The movement flared up the lessened pain in his shoulder, but he couldn't care less about it at that moment.

"I'm glad you're here, Athos," Aramis slurred, his lips and jaw joints uncooperative, the muscles stiff from the cold. His tone went up half an octave when he continued. "I'm glad to be with you, here at the end of all things."

Athos snorted. "Don't take me for a fool, my friend. You've stolen that line from Tolkien."

If he had had the energy for it, Aramis would have raised his head in surprise, but as it was he had no strength left, nearly not even for replying. "You read Lord of the Rings?" he whispered in wonder.

Athos shook his head, though Aramis couldn't see it. "No. I merely happened to stumble upon it on a very lonely evening when I was in a very gloomy mood. I watched the movie after I had zapped through the programmes up and down and finally got stuck with it. So, if you want to exchange a few sentimental parting lines with me, be witty and don't steal them," Athos said fondly, still rubbing Aramis' hands.

Aramis chuckled but the chuckling immediately turned into coughing. He replied once the fit was over. "Very well. I'm glad you're here with me." His weak voice grew more serious. "I should have died in the woods in Savoy 400 years ago. I've lived on borrowed time ever since, back then as well as now. No escape from death." He was interrupted from another fit of coughing. "I'm glad I'm not alone, Athos. I consider it an honor to have once again been allowed to call you friend and brother."

"The pleasure is all mine, Aramis. There's no place I'd rather be at the moment than by your side."

"Then you're a fool," Aramis replied with a warmth to his voice that belied his words. "I only wished I had-" he said, but broke off when his feelings threatened to get the best of him.

"Not all hope is lost," Athos rasped, willing every ounce of warmth and hope and conviction that was left in him to carry his words.

"Once again, I'm not allowed to see him grow up," Aramis whispered. "Just when I'd thought I –. Just when-. It's being taken from me again."

For a long, desperate moment Athos was lost for words. Then he pulled himself together and swallowed the knot in his throat. "I know it won't be much consolation, but haven't we conquered death once before? Do you not think we can do it again?"

"And if we do, who knows if I'll meet them again? What of all the years I'll have to live alone again, without them in my life? Without all of you?"

"I know. But this doesn't have to be the end. And if it is, at least neither of us is alone." Athos knew Aramis' chances of survival would drop drastically if he didn't get help very soon, his body had lost too much blood and liquid, not to speak of what internal damage the torture may have left. Aramis had been ill and too weak even before they had taken flight. With no shelter from the cold winter night, there was a good chance Aramis would not wake up again in the morning. And he wouldn't either, if he fell asleep again. Even if he was not as injured and weakened as Aramis was, a night in those freezing cold temperatures would likely be enough to finish him off. Athos took a deep breath. "Besides, don't underestimate Porthos. Do you remember the one time he rode for two days and two nights, using up so many horses on his way Tréville received a dozen requests for compensation the weeks after? He did not once rest and was so worn out people feared he would slip from his horse from exhaustion. But he made it in time to save you."

Aramis lips curled into the tiniest of smiles. "Yes, I scolded him for mistreating his health, and for being late."

"You see? Nowadays he would not have to rely on horses; cars and planes are so much faster, you know?"

Aramis nodded a weak consent, though it could very well be that doing so was only in his imagination and he had moved his head not one bit. "Yes, if anyone is persistent, it's Porthos. Still, he won't be able to make it in time." Aramis voice was almost inaudibly, the words no more than a whisper, carried away by the wind.

Yes, true, Athos thought. He had no idea when Porthos intended to fly back from Spain. When they had talked this morning – which seemed a lifetime away now – he had talked of all the things he needed to organize to keep Aramis' sister and mother safe. It had sounded as if it would take some time. And even if Porthos or d'Artagnan were already back, which he didn't believe, none of them had any clue where he and Aramis were. And, if by some miracle, they reached the same conclusions and started their search in this area, which couldn't time-wise be before noon, still many hours away from now, the area was too vast to find them in time.

Athos felt Aramis' head sink down on his shoulder and he tightened his embrace, bringing the younger man ever closer to his own body. He could feel the light tremors running through Aramis, the heat emitting him, he heard the tiny, gasping noises, the laboured breathing, plainly giving away just how much pain and distress Aramis was in. And just then Athos could see, with great clarity, death hovering on the fringes of the night, waiting for them. "Maybe he will not, but if we can still see the sun rise by morning, we'll move on nevertheless. And if we don't wake up, I'm sure we'll meet again," Athos murmured into Aramis' hair. "I swear to your God, I will find you again."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Athos jerked awake from a sound he only discerned in its echo, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. He must have fallen asleep again. He panicked. Beside him, Aramis felt cold and lifeless, there was no movement perceptible, and for an awfully long moment Athos was convinced Aramis had passed away while he had slept beside him. Then he heard a hollow rattle from Aramis' chest. Still alive!

Stiff and chilled to the bone, Athos tried to move his limbs, his right arm still lying stiffly frozen around Aramis. Startled, he paused in his movement when another shot rang through the night. The sound had come from the left side, not close at hand but somehow nearby nonetheless; it was hard for Athos to judge the distance with its echo bouncing off from the hills. He looked to the side where he thought the shot had come from, trying to hear anything, to see anything. Suddenly, the snapping of twigs, the rustling of leaves could be heard; something crushed through the underbrush and was approaching fast.

"Aramis," Athos urged in a whisper, trying with stiff fingers and clumsy movement to arouse his friend. "Wake up, come on. I think Grimaud has found us."

Aramis remained completely unresponsive, not even the slightest sigh or moan escaped the blue-tinged lips, no flutter of eyelids, no hint, that there was still life in his body.

"Come on, wake up!" Athos cursed when his numb fingers failed to grab the pistol he had stuffed into his coat pocket earlier. Clumsily he tried to retrieve it and felt like an idiot for being unable to draw a weapon in the face of danger.

The noise stopped as abruptly as it had started. Through the blood rushing in his ears Athos tried to listen for any sound. Whoever had run through the forest a moment ago was now standing still, probably already taking aim on them. Had they already been detected? But how? Athos could hardly see anything in the darkness and so would anyone else creeping up on them. Not unless they had night vision goggles, came to Athos' mind, and he awaited a bullet's impact any moment. "Aramis," Athos urged again, but without success. Finally, his hands got a firm grip on his pistol and he yanked it out of his pocket, just as the noise of someone approaching started again. Whoever was coming their way was rapidly closing the distance. Athos brought up his hand with the weapon, vaguely aiming at their pursuer's assumed direction, frantically trying to make something out in the darkness. Just when he thought he spotted a glimmer of light at the forest floor, unexpectedly, there was brightness all around him and Athos was dazzled by the blinding flash that shone directly into his eyes. He aimed at the sudden light's source, his finger tensing up at the trigger, but he hesitated. He hesitated the one second that decides between life and death. One second too long.

"Athos!"

The pistol in Athos' hand shook; from the cold in his fingers, from the tension in his muscles, from the fatigue in his body, from the fear for Aramis, from the shock of suddenly hearing his name shouted by a familiar voice. His mind was certainly playing tricks on him.

The light moved, down and sideways, illuminating Aramis' stiff form, so Athos wasn't completely blinded any more. Through the dots remaining on his retina he could vaguely make out a figure behind the torch's halo and squinted to focus on the dark shadow.

"Porthos?"

A/N

I have never been to the Parc naturel régional de l'Avesnois, and I'm sure it's not as wild and sparsely populated as I describe it, but let's assume it's a big area like a National Park with wild rivers, deep gorges and hills stretching for kilometers without noteworthy dwellings.

Aramis refers to the narrative "Appointment in Samarra" (see below if you're interested in the story), apparently wondering if it had been his fate all along to die in snow-covered woods, freezing to death. He may have avoided his death in Savoy, but here death is again to finally get him.

There was a merchant in Baghdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said 'Master, just now when I was in the market-place I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was Death that jostled me. She looked at me and made a threatening gesture; now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate. I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me.' The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went. Then the merchant went down to the market-place and he saw Death standing in the crowd and he went to Death and said, 'Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning?' 'That was not a threatening gesture,' Death said, 'It was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Baghdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.'