Note: Here is my long promised "Gallows" prequel. I don't usually twist people's arms into reading my fic, but there are two reasons you should read Gallows first:

1. This will probably make no sense if you don't.

2. If you start reading this and then decide you want to go back to read Gallows it will have ruined the whole story for you.

So, I strongly recommend starting with that one first :)

Quote is from The Stave's "Snow", and I have to thank the most wonderful donnaimmaculata for acting as beta.

Oh, and I've got to warn for animal mutilation/darkness/disturbingness - basically, if you've read Gallows, you'll know what to expect.

~oOo~

The Patience of Ravens

And in the trappings of this silent snow
That fell overnight and won't let me go

There is a place in the snow where you might hear something strange if you listen carefully.

But only when there's snow.

The summer lets grass grow between these trees, and nobody remembers. The fallen forest debris is seen for what it is. Without a covering of white a log is just a log. But nobody really forgets either. The locals eschew this place. They won't disturb a graveyard. Come winter the fallen logs are bodies sleeping beneath a blanket of snow.

Look around you. Shield your eyes and look over there. The brittle bones of a long dead hand reach out in supplication. Blink. Keep on blinking. They might melt away into the broken branches of a birch tree if you are lucky.

But if you're already seeing it, it's too late.

Hush…

Don't let the silence fool you.

Listen.

Can you feel the ghosts brush past? Don't be deceived. It isn't stray snowflakes caressing your cheeks and catching in your eyelashes. It is something else. Something you will fight against. But you must know… deep inside you already know. There is no victory to be had here.

I told you to listen.

Have you heard it yet?

The screaming?

They are the voices of men cut down and strung up. Yes, he's here with them now. Did he ever really leave?

If you listen, you will learn.

Don't ever try the patience of a raven.

~oOo~

Many years ago...

Pain. Blinding pain. His head was splitting apart. Sparks marred his blurred vision, but he could just make out the contrast of red against white all around him. His hands shot out, trying to find somebody, anybody, to hold onto. But all flesh he touched was cold and solid beneath his groping fingers. His mind seemed to clear a little, and he remembered. They had been screaming. They were still screaming. Or was that the ravens?

Black shapes had gathered around the clearing. They watched. They danced closer and retreated when he swept an arm out at them. A raucous shrieking split the air when he struck, and the pain in his head flared terribly. He felt he was fracturing apart into pieces that were scattering about the snow every time he lunged at the shadows. They were screaming. They wouldn't stop. But the ravens were patient. They were just waiting for the twenty first body to fall in its place.

Eventually his limbs grew heavy and his movements seemed to slow. The screaming reached a crescendo as they closed in. He curled up against one of his fallen friends, shaking so hard it jarred the rigid body at his back. They came closer, watching and waiting. One drew near to his face, it cocked its head to one side and examined him with a beady black eye. The raven seemed to be trying to ascertain whether he were living or dead. So he shot out a hand to leave it in no doubt. It flared its wings as it hopped backwards, cawing angrily at his feeble strike. And then the raven defiantly returned. It resumed its watch, as if to say… I can wait.

He drifted away for a while. And when he came back there was a slight weight to his side. Small claws dug in where they should not. He shot up and cried out. The flock took flight, and their screams entwined into one desperate discord. A flurry of feathers battered against him. And then they were gone.

It was silent, apart from the distant screaming that seemed an ever present backdrop to the scene. He turned his eyes to the body at his back. Beneath the gore it might have been Barnier. It was hard to tell. The man was torn apart. The ravens had done their work. His gaze drifted down to his own red streaked hands, and some small part of him wondered… Barnier's lips had been ripped at by cruel little beaks, the man's eyes had been stolen. He turned away, losing what little he had in his stomach, and then his eyes rose to see a raven watching him. Black against white it stood in the middle of the clearing.

This one didn't scream. It just waited.

The next time he drifted, the sensation of feathers brushing against his face brought him back. He yelled and lashed out, grabbing hold, stealing black feathers as they had stolen from his friends. He screamed, and screamed, and they shrieked and shrieked. There was nothing but screaming and shrieking and SCREAMING SCREAMINGSCREAMINGSCREAMING.

~oOo~

Treville rode hard with a heavy heart. News had reached them of a massacre at Savoy. It wasn't meant to be like that. Guilt clawed at him, as well as fear and sorrow. But Treville had to put it all to one side. He couldn't let them see. He had to be the strong Captain they all expected and needed him to be.

Together with two men Treville rode out ahead of the carts. They had brought enough to take back twenty two men, but he lived in hope of finding survivors. So Treville had left the carts behind, even knowing in his heart of hearts that nobody could have survived. If anybody made it through the attack, the elements would have seen them off. But something in Treville drove him to try. If even one survived perhaps it would assuage the guilt he felt. Then again, having to look into their haunted face each morning would be to live this nightmare over again and again.

Eventually the three men delved into the forest. It was entirely silent apart from the sound of their horses ploughing through the snow. They slowed as they neared the location for the training exercise. And there, covered in a slight smattering of snow, was Lavaud. He must have been on guard this far out. His throat was slit so he couldn't raise the alarm. Blood had seeped out across the ground, melting and staining the snow. Treville's breath caught, but he couldn't let this affect him. There would be much worse ahead.

"Captain, do we…?" The question went unfinished.

"We'll press on for now and check for survivors. We can come back for him when the carts arrive." There was nothing to be done for Lavaud now. They could only bring him home.

They walked the horses into the clearing, and stopped amidst the ruins of a camp. Cold fires lay burnt out with their ashes spread this way and that in the chaos. A stray trial of smoke rose from one indicating it hadn't long gone out. Beside it stood a tent, it was the only one still up. The rest were strewn about haphazardly. Some remained half up half down, while others were flattened. One or two covered mounds that were clearly bodies, but most of Treville's men lay uncovered, save for a light dusting of snow.

Treville dismounted and took off his hat, clutching it tightly to his chest. He felt he could hardly breathe. This was his doing. It shouldn't have happened. He should have done something, he should have found a way around this. It couldn't have been inevitable. Surely fate wasn't so cruel…

"Start a…" Treville's voice caught in his throat. He swallowed hard and tried again. "Start a head count."

The crunch of Dutoit and Morin's boots hitting the ground broke the silence. They made their way around the destroyed camp, counting as they went. Treville just watched, he felt rooted to the spot. Pinned in place by the depth of his guilt.

"Captain, will you come here a moment?" Dutoit called out.

Treville took in a deep breath and steeled himself to face the ruins of his own creation. He had known he would find something too terrible for words to convey, but he hadn't expected that.

The group of bodies Dutoit pointed to were a mess. Split apart and cut open. Their entrails spoiled the white ground and their eyes were missing. These men were not just massacred. They were mutilated.

"Ravens did not do that." Dutoit put a hand to his mouth.

Treville felt his own stomach roll. This was more than ravens were capable of.

"Probably wolves, or some other large scavengers."

But would they waste so much meat? Would they leave it open and untouched? Treville shook his head at that thought. These bodies were his men, not meat. He had to take them home. Their families would grieve.

Morin approached, slightly out of breath. "There are twenty bodies, two missing. Looks to be Marsac and Aramis."

"Spread out, if they're still here, find them."

Treville turned his back on the desecrated bodies and made his way to the tree line surrounding the clearing. Could it be? There were survivors? It was the possibility he hoped for, and feared. He walked amongst the trees, catching bloodied bodies in the corner of his eye. Every time he turned to find nothing. Until the moment he turned to find Aramis.

Treville dashed over, calling the man's name. And then he paused a moment, taking in the grisly scene before him. Aramis leaned back against a tree trunk, his eyes were half open and glazed over. A haphazardly done bandage wrapped a bloody wound at his head. There was more blood down Aramis' shirt, it covered his hands, which were entwined about the ruins of a raven on his lap. Feathers littered his knee and the surrounding snow, blood leaked out from the mess of the bird's broken body. Small bones had been pulled out and splayed where they should not be. Aramis' hand lay to one side of the creature, a wrenched wing nestled tightly in his fist.

It brought to mind his mutilated men just a short distance away. Treville pushed the thought to one side and dropped to his knees beside Aramis. With some disgust he pried the raven from Aramis' hands and flung the ruined body to one side.

"Aramis? Can you hear me?"

The lad's head vaguely turned in Treville's direction, though his eyes remained vacant.

"Are you hurt?" Treville's hand wandered to the bandage at his head, but there was a startling amount of blood on his shirt.

There was no answer. Aramis' eyes just closed, so Treville went to open his shirt and look for wounds. There were none. Nothing save for a few bruises. He didn't want to think about where all that blood had come from. Treville took off his cloak and wrapped it around Aramis. He had to warm the lad up, but it also hid the blood from sight

Treville shouted for Dutoit and Morin. A few moments later they appeared one after the other.

"Aramis is here, I've found him."

"Is he alright?" Dutoit asked with a note of concern colouring his voice.

"He's got a head injury and he's dangerously cold. Help me get him on a horse and I'll take him to that farmhouse we passed on the road. Stay here and make what preparations you can to leave. The carts shouldn't be much longer."

~oOo~

The journey back through the forest passed in a blur. Aramis hardly stirred in Treville's arms. He felt like he was carrying another corpse. As they reached the road and approached the farmhouse Aramis began to twitch slightly. He let out a low moan once or twice and then jerked violently.

"You're safe now, be calm…" Treville whispered in Aramis' ear as the man's head lolled against his shoulder.

He got them both down from the horse and rapped hard against the farmhouse door. A man not much younger than Treville opened it tentatively. He had the weathered look of one used to working the land.

"Monsieur, I apologise for disturbing you. I am Captain Treville of the King's Musketeers. My men were attacked in the forest nearby, Aramis here has been injured. Might I bring him inside? I will see you compensated for your hospitality."

The man's eyes seemed to light up at the mention of compensation.

"Of course, my friend. Bring him in." The door was thrown wide open and he helped Treville across the threshold. "Helene, will you fetch some blankets?"

A woman standing in the kitchen looked up at them with some surprise, but she nodded and bustled away.

"Da, who are they?"

That's when Treville noticed a young girl of about seven or eight sitting on the floor, playing with a doll.

"They're soldiers, one of them has been hurt and we're going to help him." The man smiled at his daughter.

They took Aramis through to a small side room. It was used for storage, but once a few barrels had been moved aside there was room enough for a makeshift cot on the floor. Treville settled Aramis down on the blankets, being careful not to remove the cloak and reveal his bloodied front. Not all laymen reacted well to the sight of blood.

"Might I have your name Monsieur?"

"Boudet, my wife is Helene, and my daughter Annette. Is there anything I can get you?"

"A clean shirt, and warm water skins if you have them." Aramis still felt cold to the touch. The first thing to be done was warm him up.

"Of course."

"Are there any surgeons nearby?" It was a faint hope in a place such as this, but he had to try.

"There is a man in the village with some medical knowledge. He treats the animals as well as men, I'd trust him with my life..." Boudet seemed to hesitate.

Treville frowned. "Well, send for him then."

"I have no one to send but myself."

And then Treville caught on. Of course the man would be wary of riding off to leave his wife and daughter with a couple of strangers. "I am a man of honour Monsieur. You have my word that your family are safe with me. The king entrusts me with his life, and your wife and daughter will be accorded the very same protection."

Boudet gave a nod, he didn't seem entirely at ease, but Treville's words were enough to get him moving.

Now alone, Treville turned his attention to Aramis. The man watched from beneath half lidded eyes. Treville put a hand to his cold cheek, trying to get a response.

"Aramis? Can you speak to me?"

Nothing. He just stared.

"Let's get you out of those dirty clothes, hm?"

Treville stripped away the cloak. He tried not let his mind wander to the question of where the blood staining Aramis' front had come from. Delicately he undid the shirt and went to pull Aramis' arms out. When he took the man's wrist Aramis' hand tightened into a fist and something like a growl sounded deep in his throat. Treville paused and looked up to find Aramis glaring at him. The half lidded vacant gaze had gone, there was something hard and dangerous in his eyes now.

"Aramis?"

Suddenly his eyes rolled back and he fell limply against the cot.

Treville gave him a gentle shake. Aramis still breathed, but he didn't rouse again. He was like a rag doll while Treville awkwardly manoeuvred him out of his shirt. Helene came in with the skins and a fresh shirt moments later, she helped Treville when he struggled to get Aramis into it.

"He's so cold…" Helene noted with concern. "When he wakes, bring him through to sit by the fire if he can manage it. It will warm him better than those skins will."

Still, the skins seemed to do some good. Aramis gradually returned to the land of the living, shivering fiercely.

"Captain?"

"Yes, it's me." Treville reached for his hand.

"I thought so… I thought I heard you, but they're so loud... I can't hear much else." Aramis' voice was so faint, Treville had to lean in to hear it.

"What do you mean?"

"The screaming… it's so loud." Aramis swallowed hard and looked away for a moment. "I tried to fight… I tried."

"I know you did." Treville squeezed his hand. "I wouldn't have expected anything less."

Aramis succumbed to a violent shudder.

"Come on, let's get you in front of a nice warm fire. Can you walk?"

A faint nod was his answer. Treville helped Aramis through to sit before the roaring hearth. Helene had pulled up a couple of chairs and they both sank gratefully down into them. The woman herself appeared moments later to ask if they wanted any broth. Treville was famished and took the offered bowl eagerly, but Aramis simply shook his head faintly. He dozed off shortly afterwards.

It crossed Treville's mind to press Aramis into eating something, but he was probably feeling nauseous from the head wound. At least a medic of sorts would be along shortly to see to it. It wasn't bleeding any more, but from what Treville had seen it would need attention. He watched Aramis carefully, taking in the man's pale face, and the dark skin beneath his eyes. The dancing flames cast shadows across half his face, Aramis seemed strangely peaceful in sleep. Not once had he wept. But then he had seemed to be in a daze since he had been found. All men reacted differently to trauma.

When Helene came to take Treville's bowl, he handed it over with a warm smile and a word of thanks.

"Annette, what have I told you about giving him tidbits?"

Treville looked over his shoulder to find the little girl playing with a black cat.

"But it's only a little bit Ma!" She protested.

"If you keep feeding him he won't catch mice, and if he won't catch mice then your Da won't have him on the farm. He has no use for a mouser that won't work."

"I'm sorry…"

"You will be when he gets rid of the cat." Helene chastised and retreated to the kitchen.

Annette came over to play with the cat on the rug before the fire. It batted playfully at her doll, and she laughed, trying to hold her toy out of reach. The girl's long blonde hair near enough shone in the firelight.

Treville smiled at their antics. "Has he got a name?"

"My Da doesn't give the animals names, but I call him Nuit because he's black."

"I see, it's a fitting name for him. What about your doll?"

"She's called Lucie, would you like to hold her?"

She held the doll out to Treville and Nuit's paw reached for it.

"Oh, I think Nuit would have a thing or two to say about that." Treville sat back in his chair with a slight huff of laughter and Annette's attention turned back to the cat.

It was then Treville noticed Aramis was awake. He was still slumped as if asleep, but his eyes were open. They watched the girl and the cat intently. Treville felt an unpleasant note of fear unfurl in his heart. That fleetingly dangerous look had returned to Aramis' gaze. He was like a predator watching prey. The flash of a ruined raven crossed Treville's mind, and for a moment he began to question... What had he brought into this house?

It didn't feel like Aramis.

The door opened and Treville was drawn from his dark thoughts by the arrival of Boudet and the medic. The two men swept in bringing a cold blast of air from outside. As they stepped over the threshold they brushed a dusting of snow from their cloaks before approaching the fire.

Boudet immediately made eye contact with his wife. Treville noted the relief on his face at seeing her well, and then the farmer turned his attention their way.

"Captain, this is Portier. He'll see your man well again."

With the brief introductions being done Boudet picked up Annette and made for his wife.

Portier stepped forwards and offered a hand to Treville. "I understand you were attacked?"

"My men were, yes. Aramis here took a blow to the head. He's warmed up some, but he hasn't seemed quite himself yet."

"Terrible business." The man's eyes drifted to Aramis' bandaged head. "Is there somewhere we can take him? Better to see to his wounds out of the way of the family I think."

Indeed, he didn't want the sight of blood or cries of pain to scare the little girl. Treville pointed out the side room. "There's a room through there. I'll settle him and get some candles lit."

Night was starting to fall and the light was failing. They would soon be in need of candles to see by.

When Treville went to help Aramis to his feet he blinked slowly. The predatory gaze had gone, and Treville began to wonder if he imagined it. Perhaps it was simply some trick of the dancing firelight. Aramis was malleable as a tired child, he sat on the cot without complaint and lazily watched the medic set down his bag. Portier sat next to Aramis and started to ferret about for a few items. After a word from Treville Helene came in to light candles about the room, and when they were alone again Portier set to work.

Delicately he unwound the bandage and pulled it away from Aramis' matted and bloody hair. He paused a moment to check the young musketeer, but Aramis seemed unconcerned and so he pressed on. Treville frowned, Aramis didn't even so much as wince at the poking and prodding.

"Ah, there seems to be some inflammation…" Portier gently tilted Aramis' head to get a better look at the wound. "His skull feels in one piece beneath the cut, but I fear it is festering. I will have to reopen it to drain the bad humours. Will you ask for some water?"

Treville nodded and rose. He went to find Helene who was sitting at the kitchen table with her husband. They looked up at him, and Treville couldn't help but feel he was intruding on something.

He cleared his throat. "May I trouble you for some water?"

"Of course." Helene got to her feet and went to retrieve a basin.

"How long can we expect you to stay?" Boudet asked.

Ah. So that was the conversation he had probably stepped in on. It seemed the couple weren't too happy playing host to soldiers. Could he blame them? "I am hopeful we may be able to leave by tomorrow, or the day after at least. My men will be driving carts back with the fallen. I intend to join them when they pass."

Boudet looked away as if he were ashamed to have asked. And then a thought struck Treville. He couldn't take Aramis back with the fallen. He couldn't ask Aramis to sit on the carts that carried the dead bodies he had been stranded with for days. But the man would not be up to riding just yet, and they couldn't impose themselves on this couple for much longer… Treville scrubbed a tired hand over his face and sighed. Those were problems for a new day. For now he just had to look after Aramis and get through the night.

"Here you go." Helene pushed the basin of water into his hands with a smile that seemed almost apologetic.

"Thank you, for everything. It is much appreciated, and you have my word that you will be compensated."

Boudet looked up at him and simply gave a tired smile and a nod.

Treville gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile of his own and turned back to Aramis' room. He walked carefully, trying not to spill any of the water. The basin was quite full and it lapped at the edges with every step. Opening the door was a little tricky, he felt water run over his fingers as he stepped through and turned to close it gently. That was the moment a horrible choking sound caught Treville's attention.

"Aramis?"

Portier sat ramrod straight, blocking Aramis from view.

"Is he alright?"

And then Treville realised. It wasn't Aramis making that sound. It was Portier.

He rushed to set the basin down and shot over to the bed. Aramis had a feral look on his face. One hand was tight around Portier's throat, while the other had hold of the medic's arm by the wrist. Both squeezed mercilessly. Portier weakly grasped at Aramis' arm with his free hand, but he could not hope to loosen that iron grip.

"Aramis! Let go!" Treville shouted and went to pry him off Portier.

There was no response, save for a disturbing snarl that erupted from Aramis' throat. He bared his teeth, Aramis was near unrecognisable, his features were twisted so far beyond the man Treville knew.

"Aramis, stop this!" He tried again.

The colour was draining from Portier's face at a rapid rate now. Treville had to do something. He could not be gentle. The Captain drew back and noted the glint of light play off a pair of scissors on the ground. He lunged forwards and near tackled Aramis down to the cot. The scissors were kicked amidst the blankets in the struggle. But his actions had the desired effect of breaking Aramis' grip. Treville managed to catch the man's arms and pin him down, but Aramis still writhed beneath him.

Portier fell to one side, gasping for breath.

"Calm down Aramis, you're safe here." Treville was determined to get through to him.

"Not him… I'm not him." Aramis growled out, his eyes were wide, they seemed to pierce straight through Treville.

It was then Treville noticed Portier had recovered and was frantically digging through his bag. He drew out a bottle and wet a cloth with the contents before nearing the cot.

"Here, this will put him out."

The medic clapped the cloth over Aramis' nose and mouth. He roared beneath it, but eventually his movements slowed and his eyes began to fall. Moments later he was out entirely.

Treville and Portier drew back, breathing hard. He shot a look at the physician and grimaced. "My apologies. As I said, he hasn't been himself."

Portier held up a hand. "No need to apologise. I know how head injuries can affect the mind. Besides, I feel I was partly to blame. I tried to cut away some of his hair and the sight of the scissors seems to have done it. He probably thought he was under attack again."

Treville gave a nod. Though he couldn't quite shake the feeling this was more than just a flashback. There had been something strangely wild deep in Aramis' eyes. He kept seeing the ruined raven... An involuntary shudder shot through Treville at the thought.

"I've seen action myself you know. It's where my interest in medicine began, on the battlefield, with men being cut down all around me. I've seen things I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy... I know how the smallest nudge can send you back into a nightmare." Portier ran a hand over his tender throat and went back to work on Aramis. "At least I'll be able to tend his wound in peace now."

~oOo~

Halfway through the night Treville woke and panic immediately seized his heart. He hadn't meant to sleep. He was just closing his eyes for a moment. It seemed his exhausted body had pulled him under a little deeper. The panic was just starting to die down a little when the light of the full moon revealed Aramis was no longer nestled on the cot. The blankets were strewn about and it lay empty. Treville's heart took flight once again.

The Captain shot to his feet and out of the room. He noticed the outside door stood ajar, and then it was a simple matter of following Aramis' tracks in the snow. Treville sent up a prayer of thanks for the fresh snowfall, it wasn't something he did often.

Some distance away from the house Aramis stood in just his shirt, staring at the tree line ahead. It was nothing but a wall of shadow in the night. Still, the full moon washed the snow into hues of silvered grey. With his fresh white shirt Aramis seemed to melt into it all and become part of the scenery.

Treville approached cautiously and wished he had thought to bring his cloak with him. The crunch of his boots in the snow seemed to give him away. Aramis called out before Treville managed to get near.

"Stop where you are." Aramis remained staring at the trees. "Don't come any closer."

Treville's footsteps stalled. He watched Aramis' back warily. "Why don't you come inside? Get out of this cold, hm?"

He noted that despite the cold Aramis didn't tremble. The musketeer just stood straight and to attention, as if he were on parade.

"I came out here to listen."

"There's nothing to listen to. It's the middle of the night and we're in the middle of nowhere. It's as silent as the grave." Treville immediately regretted his choice of words.

"You're not listening carefully enough."

"And what will I hear?"

"Screaming." Aramis answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"There's nobody screaming out here..." A sudden shiver ran through Treville.

"You are." Aramis looked over his shoulder to fix a cruel eye on Treville. "It's coming from you as well. Can't you hear it?"

"There's nothing to hear, Aramis." Treville tried again.

A scowl creased his features. "I am not him."

Indeed, he didn't even sound like Aramis, his manner of speaking was strange. It varied from a dreamlike cadence to straight and rigid as his frame. A savage edge took his tone now. It was far from the amiable way Aramis usually spoke.

"Then who are you?" Treville asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Aramis turned back to face the trees. "René d'Herblay, you know that."

"That's who you used to be. You left that name behind for a reason."

"No, it is who I am. Aramis is so full of sin, like you, like the rest of them. I am René. I am clean."

Treville took a wary step forwards. "Please, Aramis, René, whoever you are… just come inside. You must be freezing."

"So dismissive, so impudent." Aramis spat. "And so blind to your own filth. The dust of sins cloy your throat. I can see the guilt beneath your skin, gnawing away, gnawing, gnawing…"

Treville inched forwards and watched Aramis' hands turn to fists at his side. There was something very wrong with him.

Aramis continued on. "You need taking apart. I need to find the voice, find the screams, and make them stop. It's not like the sweet song of the innocent ones you see. It is pain, it is sin, it needs to be smothered and taken out."

Treville was close enough to reach out to Aramis now. He tentatively lifted a hand to the man's shoulder.

Suddenly Aramis wheeled around and shot back as if scalded. "Don't touch me!" He roared and spat.

Aramis' face was twisted into something feral and wild. His eyes looked down and settled at Treville's feet. The Captain swallowed hard, he felt he was fencing words with a madman. This wasn't Aramis. Something had broken in him. Was it the blow to the head? Was it the days spent in the cold with his dead brothers? And then a question came to Treville's mind. Part of him didn't want to know the answer.

"You like taking things apart?" Treville breathed hard, on the verge of stilling his tongue. But the words slipped out unbidden. "Did you take them apart?"

Aramis eyes remained downcast. His answer was short and to the point. "Yes."

"Why?" Treville hissed, unable to keep the hurt from his voice.

And Aramis looked up at him with such confusion. "Haven't you been listening? I had to release the sins and stop the screaming. The ravens were running out of patience you see. They were digging, but not deep enough, not fast enough… I was helping." And for a moment the look of a lost child took Aramis' face. "I was helping them."

Aramis dropped to his knees. The snow crunched as he fell.

"They were going to turn on me next. They knew his sins, and I couldn't explain to them... They wouldn't understand that I am not him. But you do, don't you?"

Treville came to kneel in front of Aramis. He locked on to the man's lost eyes and spoke with a hard voice. "Whoever you are, you are not Aramis."

Aramis' eyes closed and he slumped forwards. Treville opened his arms just in time to catch Aramis and stop him falling to the powdered ground. He sat there in the snow for some time, wondering what on earth he could do. Portier would need to be called for once again, but the man in his arms was dangerous. He couldn't in good conscience take Aramis back into the farmhouse. It would put Boudet and his family at risk.

Suddenly Aramis stirred. "C-Captain?"

"Aramis? Are you back with me?"

"I think so…" Aramis pushed himself up and looked around blearily. "Why are we outside?"

"You were sleepwalking." Not a word of the truth would pass his lips if Aramis couldn't remember.

"Huh… haven't done that since I was a child." He said muzzily with a shiver. "I'm cold."

"Well, we are sitting in snow. Come on, let's get you back inside."

Aramis seemed to have returned for the time being, and so Treville judged it safe enough to go back to the house. There was a bolt on the door, he could always lock Aramis in his room.

Once Aramis was back on the cot Treville anxiously shut the door on him and went to find some rope. He would feel better if Aramis' hands were bound. His search yielded results when he found a length of rope in the small stable outside. Treville hastily made his way back to Aramis' room. His heart nearly stopped at seeing the door open. He cursed and regretted he hadn't thought to bolt the door as soon as he left. But Treville thought he was only going to be a few moments… Hindsight was a wonderful thing.

Treville dashed back through the house. The door to the outside remained shut as he had left it, and no new tracks led away from the house beside his own. Aramis must have remained inside. Quietly Treville went around checking the main room, it was dark and silent. The moonlight cast strange shadows through the large farmhouse. It set a primal sort of fear loose in Treville's heart. He half expected Aramis to fall upon him from a dark corner, and start tearing his flesh away.

A chill ran down Treville's spine at spotting a ladder leading to a landing up above. He cautiously climbed it to find himself in a hayloft. The doors to the outside where the hay was brought in had been thrown open, and stacks of hay framed a scene that made Treville's heart lurch. Annette lay curled up asleep in a cot of furs and blankets, and Aramis stood towering over her. He was a shadow framed against the moonlight spilling in from the door.

Treville took in a deep breath of the cold night air and held out a hand, speaking as if he were calming a spooked horse. "Come away from there… Come with me."

Aramis' head shot up, though his features were hidden in the dark. "The innocent ones sing. They don't scream."

Treville inched forwards. He was relieved to see the slight rise and fall of breath from the little girl on the cot. Some part of him feared what Aramis would do to her. The rest of Treville was repulsed at the idea Aramis was capable of doing anything like that to anyone.

Then again, the man had insisted he wasn't Aramis… He might have looked like the musketeer Treville knew, but there was something monstrous hidden beneath. The attack had left damage and the beast was seeping out through cracks to drown Aramis.

When the Captain drew near, Aramis put his head in his hands and seemed to crumple. Treville rushed in to hold him up.

"I don't know what I'm doing here." He drew in a harsh breath.

"It's alright. Let's get you back to your room…" Treville started to lead him away.

"I can't remember coming here."

"You've just been sleepwalking. Come on, let's go, we don't want to wake the child."

Treville settled Aramis down on his cot once more, but as he went to pull the blankets over him Aramis held out a hand to stop them. He looked up at Treville with a confused frown.

"Captain… am I awake?"

"You are now, yes."

He looked away and dropped his gaze to stare at the rough sheets surrounding him. "I don't feel awake… I feel like I'm trapped in a nightmare."

This was something of a waking nightmare for Treville as well. Twenty of his men had just been slaughtered, and the survivor had been shattered into something else. But for the moment Aramis seemed himself. This was perhaps the most lucid Treville had seen him thus far, so he took the opportunity to dig a little deeper.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Aramis looked up with a furrowed brow. "We made camp… There was an attack. I tried to fight, Captain, I tried."

There was a crack in Aramis' voice that told of his distress. Treville put a hand to his knee atop the covers. "Hush... I know you did. Is there anything else?"

The young man swallowed heavily and calmed. "Ravens… They were waiting for me to fall." Aramis suddenly took in a harsh breath. "And screaming. It's still there, even now."

Treville was anxious to steer the conversation away from screaming, since that was the subject when René last made his appearance. "Just listen to me, focus on my voice. Do you recall anything since we arrived here?"

Aramis looked around the room as if taking it in for the first time. "Where are we?"

"A farmhouse not far from the forest."

"I can't…" A look of concentration took the young man's face. "I don't remember much. Apart from your voice. Did I hit my head?"

Aramis' hand wandered up towards the wound, but Treville caught him by the wrist and placed it back on the blankets.

"You did. Well, it looks like somebody hit you. It's probably why your memory is a bit off. Lie down and sleep, you'll feel better for some rest. I'll be right here."

It seemed Aramis couldn't remember anything of René. It was probably best to keep it that way. Aramis would surely be distressed if he thought he had mutilated his fallen friends and half strangled Portier. As Treville watched Aramis drift away he told himself that the wound would heal and the young man would recover himself. But in the mean time there was something dangerous in him that was lurking too close to the surface.

Once Aramis was safely asleep and the first light of morning touched the land Treville left the room and bolted the door behind him. He went to sit at the kitchen table and came to rest his head on his steepled hands. Images of his mutilated men ran freely through his mind. He saw Aramis leaning against that tree, bloodied, with a ruined raven on his lap. And then the scene flickered and changed. A ruined girl lay on his lap. Blue eyes stared and golden hair splayed out about her head like a halo. A few feet away there was a blood spattered doll half buried in the snow.

Treville shuddered and broke from his thoughts suddenly.

"I said - good morning."

And then he realised Boudet was standing there, staring at him with some concern.

Treville coughed and cleared his throat. "My apologies, I haven't had much sleep. Good morning to you as well. Please, Monsieur, will you have a seat? There is something I must discuss with you."

Boudet raised an eyebrow but he did as he was asked.

"I am concerned that the men who attacked my musketeers are still at large in the area. I think it would be best if you and your family left for the village until it is safe."

A note of fear lit up in the man's eyes. "You really think we are at risk here?"

"They had enough men to slaughter twenty of my own. It will be a small matter to ransack a farmhouse such as this. Even if you have nothing of value here they will happily take your supplies of food, and as for your wife…" Treville left the words unsaid. Understanding had already dawned in Boudet's eyes. "Buildings can be rebuilt, supplies can be restocked. It is your family that need protecting. Take them to the village."

Boudet had paled some at the thought of his wife and daughter being set upon. "Yes… yes, you're quite right. How long do you think it will be until we can return?"

"My men will be scouting for the attackers, I'll have one send word to you once they are sure it is safe here.

"I'd better make preparations." Boudet shot to his feet and looked around, lost in a momentary panic.

"When you get to the village can you send Portier back? I would like him to look at Aramis again, I fear he's worse."

"Of course, and I am sorry to hear it. Forgive me, I must make ready." Boudet hurried away.

Treville let out a relieved sigh. He had feared the man would be resistant. But the thought of danger to one's family often brought out a fiercely protective streak. Treville's story had worked. Boudet and his wife and daughter would be out of the way at least. They would be safe from Aramis.

And a sick feeling took Treville at the thought anybody needed protecting from Aramis.

~oOo~

Once Boudet had left with his family Treville went to make a bit of a meal. It was simple fare of bread and cold meat. He hadn't wanted to take too much food from the farmhouse. Boudet had given enough already.

Treville took the bowl and threw back the bolt before stepping into Aramis' room. The farm cat slipped between his legs as he entered, no doubt following the scent of food.

Treville was pleased to find Aramis awake and looking lucid. "Here you go, you must be hungry."

"Thank you." Aramis pushed himself up to take the food.

They ate in silence apart from the occasional plaintive meow from the cat. It was clearly missing Annette's tidbits. Treville shot a foot out to shoo him away.

"Go on with you, find some mice to chew on."

The cat flew between the barrels to take shelter. The young man gave a faint smile at their antics, but his smile didn't last long. Once Aramis had finished his meal he gave a thoughtful and sorrowful look to Treville.

"Who would do it? Who would attack us while we slept?"

"A Spanish raiding party perhaps. It is too early to tell."

A hard look took Aramis' eyes then. "There will be retribution when we find out."

"Do not fear, those men will be brought to justice." If there was not some conspiracy at work. If he had not just betrayed his own men.

"Captain… Did you find Marsac?" The anger left Aramis' voice as he spoke of his friend.

"He wasn't amongst the dead, I can only tell you that much."

"I seem to remember him leaving, but it's as if I'm watching from a distance in the fog..." Aramis' eyes darkened. "He abandoned me."

"He had just lived through the slaughter of twenty friends, I doubt he was thinking clearly."

Aramis frowned, as if trying to work it all out. "He left me there to die."

Treville leaned forwards and put a hand over Aramis'. "But you didn't, we found you."

"And yet… maybe it would have been better if you had not." Aramis' eyes lost focus.

Treville squeezed the young man's hand, trying to keep him there. He feared the monster rearing its head again. "Never say that Aramis. It is a miracle you survived, and one I am thankful for."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Aramis' mouth then. He seemed to have come back to himself.

Treville clapped Aramis on the arm and collected his bowl. He got to his feet and went to open the door.

"Treville."

He paused and turned to see Aramis sitting up straight on the cot.

"Why did you lock the door?"