Heya fans! My newest Musketeers fic since I just can't stop writing for this fandom. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed on my other fics since you guys are the reason I write and my major inspiration for all these fics. I am working on a second epiloguish chapter to For Friends and France but I have to go to Kenya in less than a week and won't be back until 24th July. I'm planning on posting one of these one-shots every day until it's finished but please review anyway cause I love hearing back from you! So my first one of these types of fics and I hope you like it. There's a healthy dose of all round Musketeer whumpage. At the end of the fic is a little note about next chapter. Enjoy!

The white quilt of ice crystals were deceiving, covering the wet mud, muck and twigs that littered the wood's floor. Trees, grey giants drained of life, stuck out their gnarled and twisted hands over the small group of twelve Musketeers, concealing the navy blue sky that sparkled with silver pinpricks of starlight. It was cold, a chilling breeze darting beneath their wooden prison and made the skin prickle and the hair rise as though electrified. A small fire crackled in the centre of their makeshift circle, sending small fireflies of orange light into the air and bringing bright, burning colour to the damp and dark wood. The horses snorted from their ties, breath curling in grey, smoky clouds into the deep silence of the bleak winter night as Musketeers moved around them, draping warm fabric over their loyal friends to protect them from the burrowing tendrils of cold and iciness from the wind.

"You alright, Mis?"

A hand clapped down of Aramis' shoulder and the medic jumped in surprise, hand instinctively drifting to his musket at his side as he whirled to face the slightly alarmed face of his friend. Porthos held out his hands placating, dark eyes locked onto Aramis' as he watched Aramis deflate with a deep, relieved sigh.

"Sorry…you just startled me."

Porthos tilted his head to the side, to examine his expression "You really are edgy, aren't you?"

"It's just…"Aramis closed his eyes and the rush of memories that followed his small prompt of thought "It's so much like then."

"Hey, 'Mis." Porthos gripped either side of his shoulders tightly and forced the other man to look at him "It ain't like it was then. We're not there. Nothing's gonna happen."

Aramis laughed half-heartedly, head bowing to stare at the floor "I know, I know. But I just can't help listening for the sound of horses' hooves, waiting for them to emerge from the darkness."

"Well, you don't need to, yeah? You didn't have me and Athos at your side that time, but now you do; so you can calm down."

Aramis met Porthos' eyes again, seeing the almost pleading look in them as he noted the lines of worry in Porthos' face. He took a deep breath, feeling the cold deep in his lungs and refreshing him with a burst of clean oxygen before nodding slowly. The larger man looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then, seemingly coming to the conclusion that his words had sunken in, released Aramis' arms.

"It was a long ride, 'Mis. Get some sleep."

Aramis allowed a small smile to slip onto his features "You too, Porthos. And…thank you."

"No problem, 'Mis." Porthos called over his shoulder as he walked away, in the direction of a lonesome figure stood staring at them from across the fire and his protégé sat on the ground beside him.

With that reassurance ringing in his ears and painted on his heart, Aramis removed his belt with only a touch of hesitancy- placing his knife beneath his pillow in a fashion similar to Athos, just in case-then slowly lowered himself onto the stiff material of his 'mattress', tucking the thick, blankets under his chin and rolling onto his side. Slowly, Aramis allowed him to drift into the unknown of sleep.

The memories of that dreaded night five years ago haunted Aramis' nightmares on the best of nights and surrounded by those same conditions seemed only to intensify them as he could once again feel the sensations on his skin and the cold deep in his bones.

Marsac was running when he awoke with a start, sweat icy on his skin as he woke with a puff of air, eyes wide with fear and panic. The sounds of men screaming and the clashing of metal cut off like the smashing of a mirror, the images shattering like glass and their last whispers left unfinished, a promise of another encore of murder and death.

The silence of the night instantly brought Aramis from any lingering sleepiness and he narrowed his eyes at the shadow above him. The dance of firelight across a long silver surface made his heart cramp as he rolled sideways and there was a whoosh of air as it sailed narrowly passed his side, where his heart had been just moments ago. Aramis' hand automatically reached under his pillow as he grabbed the blade beneath, already rushing up with it and plunging the weapon deep into his opponent's ribcage with a sickening crunch and a moan of pain.

Aramis took one glimpse of the hooded man before screaming "Bandits! We're under attack!"

That was when chaos erupted; there were shouts and screams as the Musketeers were descended on and then the clatter as swords were pulled from their sheaths. Aramis stood in shock as it happened in front of him, the other images of his past laid upon those he was witnessing and his only thoughts were filled of his friends.

Darting down, he rolled beneath a man's blade to grab his belt before pulling the musket from its place and taking the shot. The man crumbled to the ground boneless, but the Spaniard was already moving forward, sword unsheathed in a moment as the shadows took the form of men and sprung out to attack him. Around him, Musketeers and bandits alike were being slain, the newest of the King's soldiers unprepared for the suddenness of the attack as the Musketeers engaged, half-dressed with their assailants. Aramis parried and struck with the ease of years of practice, cutting down his challengers with swift precision as he moved round to assist his brothers.

A loud battle cry made him turn around as a man went to drive a blade into his gut but another flash of silver blocked him and a figure stepped out from the shadows and chaos to cut down their opponent before the mortal blow could land.

"Athos!" Aramis cried in both surprise and relief as his saviour turned to face him.

"Move!" Athos pushed him forward, voice sounding more alarmed than usual "I can't find Porthos or d'Artagnan!"

Heart pounding, Aramis whirled round and listened to the fighting around him, hawk-like eyes scanning those around him for any signs of his dear comrades. Movement in the darkness caught his eye as he watched an outline spin round and drop to one knee, their blade burying itself deep into the gut of another bandit before he was attacked again by another. The move was enough to ignite a spark of familiarity and Aramis pointed over to the battle on the outskirts of their camp.

"There! D'Artagnan!"

Both men moved together, swords spinning skilfully as they engaged with anyone stupid enough to cross their path as they hurried toward their youngest brother. A minute later and they arrived just in time to see d'Artagnan stood protectively over an unconscious Porthos, sword dripping crimson as he clutched his side and levelled a dangerous look at the bandits closing in on them. Aramis threw himself into the fighting with a cry of rage, slicing into the backs of the men with a speed almost inhuman as Athos followed with quiet wrath.

"Aramis…" d'Artagnan sighed in relief, his exhaustion showing as his knees buckled beneath him and he fell forward, Aramis reaching out to catch him as the young man dropped.

"D'Artagnan!"

Athos crouched down beside Porthos as the Gascon's fingers curled surprisingly tightly around Aramis' leather jacket and he gasped weakly "Look after Porthos! I'm alright."

With a brief, silent exchange with Athos, they switched positions; Athos moving to help d'Artagnan stand and Aramis dropping to his knees as he rolled Porthos over, heart in his mouth. There was a large bump on the side of his head, a gash leaking blood steadily into his dark curls and Aramis almost smiled at the consolation that Porthos was alive.

Behind them the battle was already dying down, the skill and experience of the Musketeers winning despite the odds as the last of the enemy fled amongst the trees.

"Is Porthos alright?" d'Artagnan's fragile question made Aramis' head turn.

Aramis didn't hide the happiness in his voice "Yes, just a concussion, I think he's going to be okay."

"You did well, d'Artagnan." Athos praised softly, the Gascon's arm behind his neck as he balanced the boy "Porthos is safe, now we need to treat your wound."

As the two moved away slowly, there was a loud groan and Aramis' gaze snapped down as Porthos' eyes opened, bleary and glazed.

"'Mis? That you?"

"Yes."

"Am I dead?"

"No, you've just got a nasty concussion."

"Oh…I was wondering why death hurt so much." Porthos pushed himself up into a sitting position, Aramis' hand against his back to help him "Is d'Art okay?"

"A wound to his side but that's getting treated." Aramis informed him with a warm smile, medical eyes already watching Porthos' responses.

"Great," Porthos moaned with a wince "Now I owe the kid, too."

The injured man raised his hand to touch his head wound but Aramis smacked it away "No touching!"

"Alright!" Porthos squeaked in protest, cringing as Aramis' gently, trained fingers prodded at the laceration "Is Athos okay?"

"Unharmed. He's helping d'Artagnan at the moment."

"And you?"

Aramis froze unintentionally at the question before forcing himself to keep moving "I'm fine."

"Yeah right." Porthos scoffed and Aramis was tempted to push just a little on the wound "You're pale as a sheet and shaking; 'course you're fine."

Aramis stopped his ministrations and lifted his hands to stare at the obvious tremor, feeling hot and cold all at once as he realised he was in shock. He sat back down in the snow, ignoring the bite through his breeches as he took a few deep breaths and felt the silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

For a minute or two, Aramis didn't speak until finally, broken, hushed words spilt from his lips "I-It was Savoy all over again."

Porthos looked up at him almost surprised by the sudden honesty, still slightly off-balance himself and feeling his injuries replaced by the vice around his heart as he stared into the Spaniard's brown eyes, painful by the faraway look held within.

"I woke up from a nightmare…being there…and then it turned into here. All I could think was that I couldn't lose any more brothers. I couldn't stand it."

"I'm sorry, Aramis." Porthos confided guiltily, hand reaching out to touch the other man's leg "But we're all safe…we're not going to leave you, not like Marsac, not like last time. We're still with you; you're not alone."

Aramis hastily brushed the water from his cheeks with a sniff "You don't need to apologise, Porthos. You didn't know this would happen. I should just be thankful to God that he answered my prayers and you are all alive."

"We'll talk about this later though, yeah? When we're back in Paris? You, me and Athos and a bottle of wine; like last time."

"And d'Artagnan?"

Porthos grinned, warmed by the thought of how close the boy had gotten to them all to be trusted with such an honour as Aramis' show of vulnerability "And d'Artagnan."

"Well, then." Aramis climbed to his feet, extending his hand to Porthos "Till then, we'll keep going and bandage you up. God knows Athos is terrible at stitching; we can't let d'Art suffer alone, can we?"

"Sounds good,'Mis. Sounds good."

Next Chapter: Athos- Waking up to a fiery grave. The inn is burning and one of their number is lost within.