I don't own the Musketeers

December Desolation

December in Paris was always cold, this year it was even more so with snow coating the ground in a blanket of white. Three Musketeers rode in silence along the woodland path, horses snorting in the cold air great billows of white steam furling from their nostrils. Athos, Porthos and Aramis had just returned from delivering a missive from the King to a rich nobleman in the West requesting his attendance at the Palace.

Curiously, the usually chipper group was travelling in silence with the most noticeable being Aramis, ordinarily they wouldn't make it five feet before he was making some sarcastic remark to make Porthos giggle and Athos curl a lip slightly. Now his hat was in danger of falling off his head with how far forward it was tipped and the silence was cloying in its tension.

"Ah, Athos, Porthos, Aramis!" Treville exclaimed as they reached the Garrison, "you are back, the King wishes his missive delivered to him post haste"

Athos gave a curt nod, pulling on the reins of his horse "We would have been back sooner if not for Aramis" he shot a disgusted look at the moping Musketeer, "I will apologise to the King immediately" With those parting words he turned his horse and made for the palace.

Porthos cast an equally disgusted look at Aramis and dismounted without a word, leading his horse to the Garrisons' stables and beginning the long process of taking care of his equipment. Treville frowned in consternation at the odd behaviour of his Musketeers, he had known them for years and they had been best of friends always, what on earth could have happened to create such hostility. Moving towards the still motionless Aramis he rested a hand on his leg "what happened Aramis?" he asked softly.

"It was nothing" the response was equally as quiet as the question, "I became... distracted momentarily... and Athos was almost hurt" he shrugged off the gentle hand of the captain and turned his own horse to the stables.

The shunning of Aramis continued for the rest of the day, not that he made any attempts to speak with his friends, remaining isolated even at dinner. As the men headed off to bed, Aramis sat on the steps hands clasped tightly together and head hanging miserably. He startled badly as a hand landed on his shoulder, relaxing as he recognised the Captain "Come Aramis, it's time to get some sleep" gripping his arm tightly he pulled his man to his feet, steadying him as he swayed slightly.

Aramis laughed bitterly and wiped a hand across his face, "that's not likely to happen and you know it"

Treville sighed sadly "yes I know, but at least try. I'm willing to bet that this was why you became, how did you put it... Distracted"

A grimace was his only response as they reached Aramis' room and the two men parted ways with a comforting pat to the shoulder. Once alone inside the comforting twilight of his room, Aramis allowed his mask to drop, lines of fatigue appearing on his face and hands shaking lightly. Stripping off the various items of his uniform he slipped under the sheets of his bed and prayed for a peaceful night for once.

It was not to be.

Mist rose in spiralling tendrils from the ground, casting menacing shadows on the surrounding fields as men lay dead on the battlefield. The screams of wounded men, dying men echoed in his ears as he lay there immobile in the mud. Pain overwhelmed his senses from the gunshot wounds and various scratches that covered his body and soft whimpers escaped his lips as glassy eyes stared off into the middle distance.
A branch snapping caught his attention, head sluggishly turning to see who was coming, hand inching towards the pistol on his belt.

"Marsac?" He whispered in confusion, having expected a Savoy soldier after the ambush they had suffered that morning.

One trembling hand outstretched, Aramis pleaded for some help, some comfort in this hellish situation from a man he considered a friend and comrade.

Wide unseeing eyes stared back at him, frozen fingers fumbling with the clasp of his blue cloak, the mark of a Musketeer. Time seemed to stand still as the cloak fluttered through the air, causing ripples of snow to fly up from the ground, the owner of said cloak turning equally as slowly and walking away.

His brown leathers merged with the darkness of the trees until Aramis could no longer see any part of him, "Marsac, Marsac wait!" he cried fearfully, voice cracking at the thought of being left alone. Feeling his strength desert him his hand fell limply back into the snow and he dimly registered that he could no longer feel the cold.

'That can't be good' he mused detachedly.

With the last of his strength he weakly turned his head and immediately wished he hadn't, his whole body trembled, a terrified whimper escaping his lips as fields of dead soldiers filled his vision.

Dead eyes stared at the sky, mouths open as if they had died screaming in pain, blood drying on blue uniforms and throats as the snow around them was dyed red. Baudin, Bordelon, Durant and Jacques all lay in his line of vision, eyes unseeing and accusing as their lips turned blue and they lay in pools of their own blood never to return to the Garrison.

"It should have been me" he whispered distraught, "I should have died, not them"

He woke to the disorienting feeling of falling through the air, flailing arms and legs connected painfully with bedposts and cabinets before he landed with a thud on the floor. The screaming that had filled his ear drums stopped as he groaned with pain and realised with some surprise that the scream had come from his own lips.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly, blinking in an attempt to clear his bleary vision he gathered the fallen bedding to his chest burying his head in his knees to hide his tears. Usually when he woke up screaming from a nightmare like that one Porthos was there, sitting in the rickety old chair beside his bed, complaining about his back and threading an arm about his shoulders in comfort.

But not today.

He remained huddled on the floor in the same spot he had fallen, shoulders shaking violently with his sobs until he heard the sounds of men traipsing in for morning muster.

A/N: Yay, I finally got around to writing a Musketeers fanfiction! Don't you just love Aramis? Stay tuned for the next chapter with lots more hurt/comfort and hurt Aramis. Please read and let me know what you think, stay tuned for chapter 2.