This is the final chapter of this little tale which was inspired by the cold and snowy conditions here in Alberta, Canada. Thank you for reading. I wish each one of you a joyous Christmas season.

The Eye of the Storm

Chapter Four

"What the hell just happened?" Porthos dropped to his knees frantically feeling for a pulse. "It's racing," he said, looking up worriedly.

"The cold must have put a strain on his heart." Athos knelt at the other side. "We must be gentle with him. Any sudden shocks and he might have a seizure." He began to tap Aramis' cheeks, only stopping when he was rewarded with a weak groan.

Aramis' eyelids fluttered open, but he made no other voluntary movement. His shivering had increased in intensity.

"There you are." Athos smiled fondly. "We're going to help you get up now. We need to get you to the inn so that we can warm you up properly. You can ride with Porthos." Aramis looked at him in confusion and Athos gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. "We'll soon get you warm. Just hold on for us a while longer."

He and Porthos carefully manoeuvered Aramis to his feet. Aramis gasped when he put his weight on his injured ankle. Porthos slung one of Aramis' arms around his shoulders and took firm hold of his friend around the waist. Athos took up position on the other side.

"Lean on me," Porthos said. It was more of an order than a suggestion.

They made their slow way to the door while d'Artagnan darted ahead to ready Porthos' horse. Getting Aramis into the saddle was an unpleasant experience for all of them. When he put his foot in the stirrup he inevitably put more weight on his damaged ankle. He cried out in pain and sagged against Porthos. The horse shifted uneasily and d'Artagnan tightened his grip on the bridle.

Aramis had no strength to pull himself up so Porthos boosted him into the saddle and then mounted quickly behind him. Aramis swayed and Porthos snaked an arm around his waist, pulling him back to rest against his chest.

"I've got you," he said. "I won't let you fall."

"I know." Aramis' voice was pitifully weak.

Athos handed up the blankets which Porthos wrapped around his ailing brother's shoulders. Athos went back inside to douse the fire while Porthos waited impatiently. He was deeply concerned by the violent shudders wracking Aramis' body and the complete unresponsiveness of his friend.

They set off at a fast trot. Anything else would have been suicidal given the state of the path. Porthos arms began to tire from the effort to holding Aramis upright but it never occurred to him to complain or to abdicate his responsibility. This was his best friend and brother and he would do whatever was necessary to get him to safety. The sky had clouded over again and a light snow began to fall. Porthos swore silently to himself as it slowed their progress even further.

By the time the lights from the inn appeared in the distance Aramis was again unconscious. They pulled up in the yard and Athos hastily dismounted so that Porthos could lower his comatose burden to the ground.

"I'll see to the horses," d'Artagnan offered. "You two get Aramis inside."

As soon as Porthos' feet touched the ground he was reaching for Aramis. He gathered his friend up safely in his arms and strode towards the front door. Athos rushed ahead, calling for the innkeeper.

"We need a room, a fire and warming pans," Athos instructed when the man hurried forward.

"Top of the stairs on the right. I'll send my daughter up to light the fire and I'll have the warming pans ready in a few minutes."

"Good. Do you have any broth?"

"Yes. Leave everything to me."

Porthos headed for the stairs and shouldered his way into the room. He laid Aramis down on the bed, removed his cloak and began to unbutton his leathers. "We need to get these cold clothes off him." He removed Aramis' boots, wincing at the swelling around his friend's ankle. "That'll need strapped up. He won't be walkin' very far for the next couple of days." He stripped Aramis down to his shirt and underclothes before pulling the bedclothes up to his chin.

There was a knock at the door. When Athos answered he found a teenage girl standing in the hallway.

"My da told me to make a fire," she said, colouring slightly under Athos' stern gaze.

"Come in." Athos moved out of the way and she scurried in.

The fire was quickly lit but it did little to alleviate the damp cold of the room. There was a thin layer of ice on the inside of the windows, testament to the freezing temperature they were battling. Porthos had also stripped off his doublet and was lying in the bed with Aramis tucked up against his chest, sharing his body heat while they waited for the warming pans.

"It isn't making any difference," he said, fear for his brother colouring his words.

"We have to warm him up gradually," Athos said. "When we were young my brother Thomas fell into an icy lake. The doctor said that his body temperature had to be raised slowly for fear of overtaxing his heart. It took many hours." He remembered the fear that had gripped his heart when his brother disappeared under the water. Of course he, as eldest, had taken the blame for the mishap. Now he felt a similar fear for another brother, guilt once again nibbling at the edges of his mind. If they had only set out sooner.

"Stop blamin' yourself," Porthos said. "I know that look."

"I should have realised something was wrong."

"We," Porthos said with deliberate emphasis. "We had no reason to worry."

The innkeeper bustled into the room carrying two warming pans. Porthos got out of the way so that they could position one near Aramis' back and another close to his feet. The air was slowly warming as the fire took hold. Porthos tucked the covers snuggly around Aramis' body and stood back.

"He's white as a sheet," he said.

"We've done all we can. Now, we wait."

A bowl of broth arrived shortly afterwards and Athos set it by the fire to keep warm. D'Artagnan joined them, carrying a tray of cups and a bottle of wine.

"The innkeeper said he'll send up food for us." He uncorked the bottle and poured. "How is he?"

"Still unconscious. We should know more soon."

They had eaten their supper and cleaned away the dishes before there was any sound from the bed. After emitting a couple of low groans Aramis began to move sluggishly, turning from his side onto his back. In the light of the candles it was hard to tell if there was more colour in his face but it was clear that he was finally on the verge of waking up.

Athos left his chair and leaned over the bed. "Aramis? Can you hear me? How do you feel?"

"Cold," Aramis murmured, burrowing deeper under the covers. "My fingers and toes hurt." He opened his eyes and blinked a few times.

"That's good. It means the blood is starting to flow again. Do you think you could eat something?"

"Yes…maybe."

Porthos busied himself in plumping up the pillows and helping Aramis to sit up. The marksman grasped the blankets to his chest as if they were a lifeline. Fine tremors still ran through his body although the violent shivering had ceased. When Athos approached with the broth he ducked his head in embarrassment.

"I don't think I can hold the spoon," he admitted.

"That's not a problem." Athos sat on the side of the bed and dipped the spoon in the broth. "Take it steady," he said.

Aramis managed half the bowl before turning his head away. "That feels good…being warm inside."

"It will take time for your body to warm back up to its proper temperature," Athos cautioned. "Lie down and try to get some sleep." He removed the warming pans and handed them to d'Artagnan. "Can you get them refilled?" he asked.

"Of course."

Aramis snuggled down under the covers and regarded his brothers with sleepy eyes. "I owe you my life. I wouldn't have lasted another night."

"Nah. You're too stubborn to die," Porthos said.

"It appears God has granted me a Christmas miracle," Aramis said as his eyelids started to droop. "Thank you, my brothers."

"You're welcome." Athos pulled his chair closer to the bed and settled down to keep vigil until the morning. He was content in the knowledge that Aramis was recovering even if he didn't have the same belief in God's divine intervention. All that mattered was that they would be able to celebrate the feast of Christmas as a family.

The End