CHAPTER 10

The first thing Athos noticed when he cracked open his eyes was the roaring fire and he wondered when that had happened. His memory since they had crawled out of the river was hazy at best. He thought he recalled something about carrying firewood, but he wasn't sure what was real and what was part of his nightmares.

The second thing he noted was the naked state of his body, along with the fact he was wrapped in a blanket. Where did the blanket come from? Had they been rescued? He thought they had fallen in the river. But was that truth or had it been some bad dream? But if it was a dream, why was he naked under a blanket? This line of thought was going nowhere so he went back to observing what else he could.

The third thing he noticed was his whole body ached, but especially his torso. That is what happens, he supposed, when you spend hours uncontrollably bouncing off of rocks. Some the river must not have been a dream. Breathing shallowly, he decided, was his best course of action.

The fourth and final thing his weary mind latched onto was the fact he was sitting upright, supported by something slightly warmer than himself, though that wasn't saying much for it was still cold. He was going to assume it was one of his brothers, at least that is what he hoped. If he was leaning naked against a stranger, well maybe he didn't want to figure out what was going on.

"You're awake. Good," floated to his ears and he sighed in relief. Aramis. Of course. Of all his brothers, Aramis would have no qualms about striping him naked in the name of healing. A violent shiver rocked across his body setting his ribs on fire, which was painful and caused him to moan and squirm in Aramis' warming embrace.

"It's ok. I know you probably hurt, but it is a good sign. Your body is trying to fight back against the cold that is killing it," Aramis explained in a soothing tone as he momentarily tightened his arms around his friend. In the darkness, he hadn't seen the colorful bruising decorating his brother's rib cage. "Lean into me until it passes."

As the aching of his ribs and the cramps in his muscles, brought on by the violent shaking, grew more severe, Athos gave up all pretense of being independent and snuggled against Aramis, turning his head slightly to tuck it against the medic's shoulder for comfort. After what seemed like an eternity, the shaking subsided, his muscles loosened and his ribs settled back to a dull ache. Athos found he was panting and exhausted after the ordeal. He closed his eyes, wanting to sink back into oblivion again where he would feel nothing.

However, he was in for a rude awakening. Aramis, sensing his brother was drifting off again, and knowing it was dangerous to do so, stuck his hand outside of the blanket for a moment until it grew cold. When it was sufficiently chilly, he pressed it on Athos' lower back, causing the man to shriek and bolt awake.

"Get that off me! What the hell are you trying to do? Kill me!" Athos growled as he squirmed, trying to move away from the icy object being pressed into his back.

"On the contrary, I'm trying to save your life," Aramis answered glibly, though he did remove his cold hand.

"I think I'd rather die," Athos tossed off without much thought as another painful shiver rocked his body.

Turning deadly serious, Aramis shifted until he could partially see the other man's face. "Athos. You nearly did die multiple times tonight. Your body has gotten cold, almost too cold to survive. If I hadn't found the blankets." Aramis' voice broke and he paused a moment to regain control. "You have scared me more than once since we escaped the river. I don't like being scared."

Immediately, Athos became contrite. "Sorry. I am not thinking clearly."

"All part of the cold's deathly grip. I need you to stay awake and fight. I can't do this without your help. This is for both of us," Aramis said truthfully, realizing if either of them went to sleep now, they might never wake again as the cold carried them away.

Athos shifted until he was sitting more independently. "You did all this?" he asked as his eyes roamed the shelter noting the fire, pile of firewood, blankets and lastly lighting on the cups.

"Whether you recall or not, you helped. And God led me to a small cave, well former cave, and within it I found the blankets and utensils." Aramis poured a cup of hot mint water from the pot on the fire and handed it to Athos. "Drink. It will help warm your insides."

For a few moments, Athos just held the hot metal cup in his hands, savoring the heat that was seeping into his fingers, which hadn't been warm in what felt like an eternity. Eventually, he took a sip of the heated liquid, which burned his tongue and all the way down to his stomach. It felt good, though he did grimace a little at the taste of what was basically mint water.

Chuckling a little at Athos' grimace, Aramis mock apologized. "Forgive me, oh my Comte. I didn't have time to search out a bee hive to sweeten my lord's beverage."

Straight-faced and stoic as always, Athos simply replied, "Next time."

Aramis glanced up at the moon, trying to judge how much more night they had left. Surrounded by trees, he couldn't see if the horizon was pinking up with the morning sun. With a sigh, he rose to check on their drying clothes. He knew their leathers would take a long time to dry, especially since they were saturated, but the linen braies and shirts should dry more quickly. However, his questing fingers found them still too damp to put back on. With a sigh, he climbed back into the little shelter next to Athos.

"You didn't find clothes in your magic cave?" Athos asked drily upon Aramis' return.

"I did, but they were women's. Dresses, corsets, petticoats. Shall I go fetch them for you? Or would you prefer to lean against my person until our own clothes are dry?"

Athos sat silently for a few seconds, as if he were truly contemplating which was the lesser evil.

"Surely, leaning against me to stay alive isn't that objectionable," Aramis asked in a pretend hurt tone simply to break the silence.

After a few more seconds, Athos replied, "It was rather…itchy."

Aramis frowned, then explained. "Our skin wasn't touching if you are implying it was me! That was the blanket. It's wool."

Staring out into the night, Athos grunted, "Oh." Then he reached around and scratched his back.

"Are you suggesting I'm harboring bugs?" Aramis demanded of the quiet man who continued to scratch.

"I suppose, the bath in the frigid river, took care of any of your …bug problems," Athos drawled in that infuriating manner he had cultivated from his former life as a member of the privileged society. The man was an expert at coming out with these lilting phrases that cut one off at the knees.

The frigid wind chose that moment to howl viciously over their little island, picking up loose snow and tossing it in the night air. A few snowflakes worked their way into the lean-to and settled on Athos' exposed face, making him shiver.

"Come closer you idiot. You need me and I need you to stay warm," Aramis ordered and he was happy to see Athos obey. The swordsman crawled in front of him once more, gingerly leaned his back against Aramis' chest, then sighed as he felt the warmth seeping through the rough blanket. The marksman folded the edges of his generous wrap around both of them and they sat, silently like that for a long time. Longer than he meant to, for both men drifted off to sleep.

While they were asleep, the sun peeked its head over the horizon, but the warmth of its weak rays never reached the ground because a blanket of snow-laden clouds covered the skies. The wind, which had calmed during the pre-dawn hours, whipped itself into a frenzy again. The temperature, driven by the wind-chill, plunged once more.

Athos' nightmares came to plague him, even in his cold induced slumber. Gerard Daumont. The mutilated bodies of Daumont's wife and children swam in front of Athos' eyes. The deranged Daumont had killed his family his own hands; multiple slashes from a dagger, and then many more, past the point of death. But what he'd done to the servants of the holding was even more horrifying and showed how unhinged the man was; a lunatic.

In his nightmare, the swordsman found himself trapped by Daumont, tied to a post with a dagger pointed at his heart. In the distance, he saw Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan running to rescue him and he shouted for them to stop, for they didn't know the traps set for them. Athos continued to scream for them to halt when the deranged Daumont using his dagger, yanked out his tongue and sliced it off. Strangely, there was no pain following this act, at least not in his mouth. But his heart nearly burst as he saw his three brothers, whom he loved more than life itself, one by one succumb to Daumont's loathsome traps.

Porthos went down first, falling into a covered hole where he was brutally impaled on sharpened stakes below. The streetfighter bellowed like a bull as the pointed wood stabbed through his vital organs. The roaring changed to mighty groans, then heart-rendering sobs, and finally silence. Death had claimed the large-hearted giant.

D'Artagnan met his maker next. A loop on the ground, tied to a tree, clasped around his ankle when he hit the trip wire. Up into the air he was hauled, ankle first and Athos could hear the snapping of the Gascon's leg bones from the violent jerking. The sound made Athos sick to his stomach. As the lad dangled by his shattered limb from the tree branch, Daumont picked up the first of five muskets next to him on the ground, took aim and shot the swaying target in the stomach. D'Artagnan screamed out in pain as the hot metal ripped through his innards. Four more times the vile man shot at the swinging musketeer, with the last two being the head and heart. Tears were coursing down Athos' face and his throat was raw from the screams no one could hear.

The last of his beloved brothers to meet his maker was Aramis. Running under a net full of rocks suspended from a rope in the tree, brought him his demise. The net let loose and the rocks hit him on the skull, knocking him to the ground, unconscious. Out of nowhere a cross came into view. Giggling like the unbalanced madman he was, Daumont walked over to where the downed man lay on the ground. As if he weighed nothing, the lunatic slung Aramis over his shoulder and carried him to the cross where he proceeded to nail Aramis' hands and feet to it. The marksman awoke, screaming out in pain. Athos watched helplessly as Daumont, the man he should have stopped long ago, proceeded to pound more spikes into his brother's body. Obviously enjoying what he was doing, Daumont made Aramis' death slow and painful, placing the long nails in places designed to cause tremendous pain, the eyes, the groin, but not in places that would swiftly kill the musketeer. Finally, Daumont pounded a long, wide spike into Aramis' heart and Athos felt the pounding of the hammer in his own heart.

Somehow, for this was an illogical nightmare, Athos found his tongue back in his mouth and the cords binding him gone. Jumping to his feet, he tried to reach where Aramis hung on the cross, his life blood staining the snow that now covered the ground. Try as he might, he couldn't reach Aramis. He lay in the snow, watching the last twitch of life leave the man. When it was over, Athos went numb, simply lying there in the snow, cold and shivering and praying to die.