Note: This started out life as a one shot character introspective on Aramis... As with most of my writing it got a bit out of control, so there'll be four chapters of it instead ^_^ It's set at the beginning of the season, and I haven't seen the episodes since they originally aired so please forgive any mistakes!

The title and quotes are taken from "On Powdered Ground" by Agnes Obel, a song that largely inspired this fic. It's wonderful, have a listen :)

On Powdered Ground

Chapter One

Go back and forward
But all is melting like the snow
Taking all from us
All we thought was left to know

It started with the first snow, this feeling of dread. To others the soft flakes were harmless, but Aramis looked up at the sky with a hollow heart when he saw the clouds were thick and heavy with it. He hoped it wouldn't settle… but Aramis was rarely so lucky.

He could hide it from the others, he could carry on, do his duty… It was manageable, apart from the nightmares. Aramis just tried to sleep alone, and if that was unavoidable he tried not to sleep at all. It was manageable… until they found Musketeers dead in the snow.

Suddenly Aramis was thrust five years into the past… He put a shaking hand to his head, trying to wipe away the blood he felt running down his face. But the blood on the snow was far more horrific. It stood in stark contrast, red on white, pooling and melting. The warmth of life against the cold of death… and death's harbingers were here already. They called and danced about the bodies, clothed in black feathers, thankful of easy pickings in these harsh times. Aramis would have dashed forwards to chase them from his fallen brothers, but his feet were lead weights. He couldn't move, he could hardly breathe. It was happening again, it would happen again. Marsac left… were they leaving? Would they leave him alone amongst the dead?! Panic took flight in Aramis' heart. He frantically looked around for Athos and Porthos, as if he had been away… In a way he had been, Aramis was momentarily trapped in his head with the horrors of the past. The two musketeers were kneeling over the fallen, speaking words that Aramis couldn't hear over the pounding of his own heart in his ears. They were still here… they were with him, and with that knowledge Aramis' harsh breaths slowed a little.

Back at the garrison Athos went to report while the others settled down to a game of cards. Aramis was too distracted to play and lost in short order. He mumbled his excuses and retired to a chair by the fire. Inch by inch he pulled it closer. Aramis felt so cold. He threw some more wood into the roaring hearth, thinking if he could just build it up a little more it might stop the shaking. If he built it up enough Aramis might imagine himself on a warm summer's day standing guard at the palace instead of standing in winter's chill amidst a massacre.

"Aramis?" Porthos' voice carried across the room. He received no answer and tried again. "Aramis!"

At that the young musketeer's head shot up. "Yes?"

"Are you ill?" Porthos asked with a note of concern.

"No, of course not, I'm perfectly fine, what makes you say that?" Aramis rushed out his words, almost seeming on the defensive.

"You'll set yourself alight if you get any closer to that fire". Porthos gave his friend a pointed look. "And you don't need to feed the flames. We're sweating over here, aren't we d'Artagnan?"

The young lad made a noise of agreement.

"I'm just… cold". Aramis turned his eyes back to the flames.

"I can see you shivering from here. Why not go to bed? You'll feel better for a bit of sleep".

"No! I'm alright, I told you – I am fine. I don't need sleep".

After this sudden outburst Porthos and d'Artagnan looked at their friend with a raised eyebrow each.

"We all need sleep Aramis, even you". Porthos replied slowly.

Aramis went quiet for a moment… Perhaps he should retire to bed. It would get him away from their concerned glances at least. Yes, he would go to bed… he didn't have to sleep. Aramis feared closing his eyes like never before. The nightmares he knew were coming had just been fed fresh blood. He could hear the ravens calling even now… Silently Aramis cursed, he thought he was getting over this. He thought the nightmares would fade with time and Savoy would become a distant memory, a long scarred over wound. Those wounds had just been ripped open at the sight of more musketeers taken from them, lying dead on powdered ground.

"Very well gentlemen, I'll take my leave. Good night to you both". Aramis stood without his usual flourish of cheerfulness; the musketeer drew his cloak tight about himself and made his way to the door like a bent old man.

"Look after yourself Aramis!" Porthos shouted after his friend. Then he added under his breath more to d'Artagnan. "Lord knows you won't let us do it for you".

~oOo~

The next day on parade Aramis stood with his brothers in arms shivering in the cold. Orders were given, though Aramis found he hadn't taken a word of them in. He had not slept at all that night. Instead he busied himself cleaning every weapon and stitching every worn piece of clothing he could lay his hands on. It left his mind drifting… Aramis felt half dead, but at least he had suffered no nightmares.

Athos suddenly clapped a hand to his shoulder, bringing the young musketeer to his senses. "Are you coming then?"

"What?" Aramis asked, slightly bewildered.

"Were you not listening? You're with me, on guard duty at the palace".

"Oh… of course, lead on". Aramis coughed and rubbed at his eyes, trying desperately to feel a little more awake.

Athos didn't lead on, in fact he didn't remove his hand from his friend's shoulder. Instead he seemed to lean in and scrutinise Aramis a little more closely.

"Are you ill?"

Aramis sighed. "Why do people keep asking me that?"

"Because you look ill". Athos commented in his dry droll way.

"I'm fine". Aramis pushed his friend's hand from his shoulder and set off at a brisk pace.

"I've seen fresher looking faces on corpses".

Aramis nearly missed a step. He really didn't need to be reminded of dead bodies right now… "How many times do I need to say it? I'm fine!"

"If you insist… but I can easily have Porthos reassigned. You know how he-"

"There is no need, I'm fit for duty". Aramis interrupted. "Now if you've finished acting as my personal physician don't we have a king to guard?" He pushed on, leaving Athos behind.

"If you can stay upright long enough to guard him…" Athos muttered under his breath, though it was not said quietly enough, Aramis' ears picked it up.

"I'm fine!" He shouted over his shoulder.

On reaching the palace Athos and Aramis found it was not the king they were guarding, but the queen. Despite the cold Queen Anne had insisted on a walk around the gardens. She thought the fallen snow made the grounds most picturesque. Aramis thought it more akin to a sepulchre. Winter left everything dead, the snow merely served as a shroud… He fidgeted and seemed most restless as they followed the queen and her ladies in waiting. The young musketeer imagined foes at every corner. It was not safe out here, they were not safe… Athos had been exchanging a few words with Her Majesty, but he kept shooting concerned glances over his shoulder and eventually dropped back beside Aramis.

"What is the matter with you?" Athos hissed under his breath.

Aramis looked about and spoke as if in a dream. "It's not safe… it's not safe".

"Of course we're safe, and if ever we were not safe - we're musketeers! We face the danger and defeat it".

"Not every time, not when there's snow on the ground and ravens on the wing…" A bird called in the distance and Aramis visibly flinched.

This together with the haunted look on Aramis' face seemed to elicit some sympathy from Athos. "Look, we'll be going back inside soon. I think the queen is starting to feel the chill of the air".

To the considerable relief of Aramis Athos was proved right and they made for the palace after a few minutes more. As soon as they crossed the threshold Aramis relaxed a little. The warm air was a balm for the fears that assailed him out there. The two musketeers followed the queen and her entourage to her rooms. Athos left Aramis standing guard outside. He needed to speak with Alexander, who was guarding the council chamber where the king was holding a meeting. But he assured Aramis he would return shortly.

The musketeer stood with his back to the door, barring entry to any who would seek to assail the queen. Long moments passed where not a single soul came down the corridor. Everything was silent, apart from the occasional peal of laughter from within the room. It left Aramis alone with his thoughts. They circled around dead musketeers and Savoy like ravens that prepared to stoop upon a feast… and so he looked for distractions. The musketeer examined the minute details on the painting opposite. A long dead king looked back at him with watery eyes; Aramis admired the work that had gone into depicting each stitch of elaborate brocade. But the painting could only hold his attention for so long.

Suddenly the tiredness Aramis had managed to stave off came upon him. Outside the cold air and anxiety had kept him alert, but here in the warmth he was being coaxed to close his eyes. The musketeer retrieved a chair from further down the corridor, he could guard just as well sitting down as standing up. Before long his eyes seemed to shut of their own accord. They flew open again as Aramis felt himself falling… he did not want to sleep… A few more times this battle was fought and won, but his eyes closed for longer and longer until they ceased to open at all.