CHAPTER 12

Two parts of Athos' nightmare were based in reality. He was actually laying, naked, in the snow and he had screamed Aramis' name, loudly. It was these two things that saved his and Aramis' life.

The cold had once again done it insidious work, creeping into their bodies and causing the two musketeers to fall into a stupor as they sat wrapped in the blankets. Aramis was so far lost in the icy clutches of death, that the thrashing of Athos, from his nightmare, the blankets slipping off, and the swordsman wandering a few steps away did not pierce his cold slumber. Only the desperate, heart-wrenching cry of his treasured brother could pierce winter's death veil.

The marksman's eyes flew open and his heart pounded as he desperately searched for the source of the scream. They lit upon Athos, laying naked, on the boughs by the mouth of the lean-to. The fire had burned down to embers, giving off only the slightest warmth. Had it not been for the boughs and the slight heat from the fire, Athos would probably have already been dead.

Fueled by adrenaline, Aramis leapt to his feet, closed the few steps to the swordsman, gathered him up and held him tightly against his own body, willing his body's own meager warmth to seep into the frozen man. Carrying him into the central part of the lean-to, he wrapped them both in the blankets again and they sat like that for a very long while. Finally, Aramis felt some warmth in the skin of his best friend.

He had been so focused on trying to get Athos warmed up and praying, he hadn't noticed the snow had started falling heavily once more. If they wanted to survive another snowstorm, the fire had to be kindled, and Aramis wanted to check if any of their clothes were dried, so he wrapped Athos in one blanket, nice and tight, while he swathed the other around his body.

Checking the clothes, he found their shirts, braies and socks were dry; the leathers not so. Their boots were also damp, but if they had to go out into the snow for any reason, they would have to wear them. Scooping up the dry garments, he carried them back into the lean-to and put his on, including his boots, struggling a bit with the damp leather. Athos' boots he placed in the shelter, as near to the fire as possible. Next, he ventured out again, placed wood from the surplus pile they had made earlier into the pit and got the fire going again. When it was roaring, he went back into the shelter, somewhat exhausted once more from lack of food, water, quality sleep and, of course, the ever persistent cold.

Try as he might, he couldn't rouse the swordsman. Growing concerned the man had fallen into a coma from which he would never awake, Aramis tried everything he knew to wake Athos. In desperation, he resorted once more to painful stimuli, including snow and knuckle rubs, but to no avail. Hating himself, but believing it was important that Athos regain consciousness, Aramis retrieved Athos' dagger from his weapons belt, which they had stored in the corner of the shelter. Drawing the blade from its sheath, he turned it over and over in his hand before gathering the courage to take it and plunge it, blade first, into the fire.

His stomach began to churn as he watched the blade turn red hot from the heat of the fire. Praying to God he was doing the right thing, he wrapped the corner of his blanket around the hot handle and withdrew the dagger from the blaze. Moving back over to the unconscious man, he debated where to do it. It was going to leave a scar for sure, but it also had to be someplace painful. With much regret, he fished Athos' left arm out from under the blanket, turned it over and on the tender skin on the underside of Athos' forearm he laid the molten blade. The smell of burnt flesh rose to his nostrils and he would have vomited had his stomach contained any food.

But it worked. Athos' eyes flew open as he screamed, causing Aramis to fling the blade away then gather the dazed man in his arms as tears flowed down his face. Over and over again he apologized. Dazed and confused, Athos pushed Aramis away. Sitting up on his own, he slowly turned his left arm over to examine the burn, then pointedly glanced up at Aramis.

"Why?" he croaked out the single word.

"You were unconscious. From the cold. I had to get you to wake up. I was afraid if I didn't you never would. You didn't respond to anything, so I," Aramis gulped and lowered his voice, "took your knife and…"

Athos glanced from the distraught man, to his arm, then out of the shelter into the feeble daylight. It was snowing hard and he could hear the wind increasing in velocity as it whipped through the trees. "I think we're in for another blizzard," he said deceptively calmly, looking at the deteriorating weather conditions.

The marksman sat there in stunned silence, not believing Athos wasn't paying any attention to the horrific burn on his arm, which he had just inflicted.

Glancing back over at Aramis, he noticed the man had his shirt, braies, socks and boots on while he was still naked. "My clothes? Are they also dry?" Aramis nodded in the direction of the pile of clothes resting on the pine boughs in the shelter. "Good," Athos declared when he saw them.

"Aren't you going to say something about your arm?" Aramis blurted out, a desperate edge to his voice.

With an almost child-like curiosity, Athos gazed at the burn again. "It hurts?"

Exasperation over took the medic who didn't understand why his brother wasn't angry. He'd just maimed the man. Scarred him for life. "Well of course it hurts! I took your dagger, heated it up until it was red hot and deliberately burned you!"

Athos raised his head again and peered at Aramis. "I forgot I still had my dagger."

Sputtering, Aramis repeated, "You forgot you had your…"

"Dagger, yes," the swordsman finished Aramis' sentence as he shifted to look outside once more. The weather outside was deteriorating rapidly, which made the fire that much more welcome. But they wouldn't have a fire long if they didn't get more firewood to replenish what they had already burned. "After I get dressed, we need to get more firewood."

"Firewood?" Aramis repeated dumbfounded.

"Yes. I have my doubts that storm will let up anytime soon and we will need to keep the fire going if we don't want to die. And I don't." Turning his serious green eyes to capture Aramis' brown sorrowful ones, he said, "Thank you. You did what was…necessary."

Aramis blinked a couple of times as he processed Athos' gratitude. "I'd say you're welcome, but that somehow seems, well, inappropriate." With a slight smile, he went on. "I would suggest you put something cold, like snow, on it. It will help take away the sting."

Athos nodded to show he heard, before he tried to rise. It took a moment and a steadying hand from Aramis for him to get his balance. With a little assistance from his brother, he got dressed though getting his boots on turned into a challenge for both of them. They were cold and stiff and putting them on was unpleasant. But he couldn't go running around in the snow in his stockings. By the time he got them on, Athos' ribs were screaming at him with pain. The burn on his arm seemed like nothing compared to the pounding in his torso.

Standing at the edge of the shelter, the two peered out into the intensifying storm. "We need to move the rest of our clothes to this side. They won't dry as well, but if left where they are, they will get covered in snow or blown away." Athos gave a quick nod to indicate he had heard Aramis. "And we need to stick together out there."

Making their blankets into the warmest capes possible, they set out into the snowstorm to gather more wood. Rapidly, they gathered what they could, for the cold was zapping what little strength they had left. Once back inside their little pine shelter, Aramis made another pot of mint flavored water which helped warm them for a few minutes. Then they huddled close together to share each other's blankets. Athos tried not to wince as his bruised ribs objected to the position. The only good news was he was so numb he barely registered their aching or that of his arm.

"We mustn't allow ourselves to fall asleep again. At all costs, we need to stay awake," Aramis told Athos with a seriousness that let the swordsman know the medic truly believed they would never wake if they dozed off.

Athos nodded to show he understood, though he had no idea how they would manage it. Already, his eye lids felt like they had weights attached to them. Even as he thought that, he felt an elbow poke him in his side causing a wave of pain to wash over him.

"Awake!" Aramis demanded not realizing how effective his poke had really been. "You've got to stay awake." Thinking for a moment, he demanded, "Gerard Daumont. You tried to kill him after we had subdued him. Were you trying to shoot him? Would you, if Porthos hadn't pushed you aside?"

Athos glanced sharply at Aramis then away. He couldn't answer Aramis' question for he, himself, wasn't sure of the truth. Had he actually pulled the trigger or had Porthos' jostling made him? His guilty conscience said he had tried to murder the man, for he deserved it.

"I don't know," he finally answered. "He deserved to die. But I know it was not my place to…judge him."

"Yet you did. You knew him? From your past?"

Shifting a little, as if trying to find a more comfortable position, Athos stalled for time before telling the story.

Aramis, knowing Athos as he did, knew the man was deeply upset, even if he barely showed it on the outside. But those who knew and loved him best could see past his walls. "Tell me. Please. It is obviously upsetting to you. Talking about it might help."

Again, a long silence settled over the pine bough shelter, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the whistling of the wind. Whoever had first built the shelter had positioned the fire pit very cleverly, for it was on the leeward side of the rock cropping, which offered it a measure of protection. For this the musketeers were glad, for the fire was their only lifeline at present.

Finally, Athos took a deep breath and began to speak in a low, intense voice. "Gerard Daumont was a monster. The incarnation of the devil himself. And he was my cousin."