Aramis shook his head to remove the snow that had gathered in his hat. He sighed and shifted closer to the fire. How he hated winter, and all the snow that came with it. Their camp was not too deep in the forest but still he felt the hair stand up on his neck at every flutter of birds' wings and every snap of a branch. The snow falling and gathering all around him did nothing but add to his unease. No matter how much he tried, he could not stop himself from staring at every shadow and straining his ears at every sound. He gripped his left wrist with his right hand and squeezed as tightly as he could, until it was painful; it seemed the only way to stop his mind from wandering too far from the present.

He looked up to watch his brothers. Porthos and d'Artagnan were playing cards. d'Artagnan was losing badly and Porthos was howling with laughter. The two were closer since Aramis saw them last and he suddenly felt a small pang of jealousy flare up inside him. Aramis was very fond of d'Artagnan and felt not even the smallest amount of anger towards him. The problem was, he missed Porthos. The way Porthos and d'Artagnan were now, felt like he was watching himself and Porthos four years ago. Aramis looked away from them.

We learnt to live without you. The words had stung. Badly. Porthos had never uttered anything so hurtful to Aramis before. He knew Porthos was angry with him at the time, and while that anger had abated since they spoke that day, he felt like Porthos was still holding back. Aramis looked down to his boots and felt a small, warm tear run down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away with his shoulder and looked up again to see if anyone had noticed. Relieved to find that they hadn't, he started to unnecessarily poke at the fire with a twig.

Aramis sighed quietly to himself. He missed the way they were, the way they used to be and a small voice told him they would never be that way again. He listened constantly as his brothers spoke and referenced events that they had experienced in their four years without him, and it hurt him. He would never blame them but that fact did not ease his thoughts at all. In fact it only made him hate himself even more. If they had learnt to live without him then what was his purpose anymore? Surely it meant he had nothing more to offer them.

He looked up and watched d'Artagnan and Porthos again. The way they laughed and smiled at one another when one referenced an inside joke that Aramis knew nothing about. Aramis swallowed and glanced over to Athos who was sitting to the right of the others. He startled when he realised Athos was watching him intently. Before he could look away Athos was on his feet and coming to sit beside him.

"Are you alright?" Athos asked softly, to prevent the others from hearing.

"I'm fine." Aramis replied and was not surprised when he was met with a stony expression from his brother.

"So was that a stray drop of rain that I saw on your face just now?"

Aramis sighed, there was never hiding anything from Athos, "No."

Athos stood up and said loudly, "I believe we are in need of new firewood. Aramis, would you care to accompany me?"

Aramis groaned internally, aware of his brother's strategy.

"Very well." He replied curtly and stood up to follow Athos into the woods.

They walked in silence, side by side until Athos eventually stopped walking to pick up a few twigs.

"Something has greatly upset you," Athos stated matter-of-factly, "I will know what it is now."

Aramis crossed his arms in defiance, "There is no need to use your Captain voice on me."

Athos raised an eyebrow and straightened to look at Aramis in the eye, "I do not have a captain voice."

"Yes you do," Aramis teased, "I am not upset, the smoke from the fire merely made my eyes water."

Athos rolled his eyes, "Don't try that nonsense on me, Aramis. Even after four years I can tell when your mind is trying to think of too many things at once, I could hear you thinking from across the fire. Now tell me, what is wrong?"

Aramis sighed and kept on walking, gathering more pieces of dry wood as he went along.

"He hates me," Aramis said eventually.

"Who hates you?" Athos asked, the confusion evident on his voice.

"Porthos," Aramis replied.

Suddenly a pair of hands were grabbing his shoulders and turning him around, causing him to drop the wood he was holding.

"Aramis," Athos said, the look on his face confused and hurt, "Porthos could never hate you. How could you think that?"

"He hates me for not fighting the war with you all; he said that you all had learnt to live without me. I understand, of course, but I just feel like I've lost him."

Athos sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"It's amazing," He said, "How four years can change so much yet also so little."

"I don't follow," Aramis replied.

"Aramis, my dear brother," Athos said, "What does Porthos do when he is angry or upset?"

Aramis thought for a bit, not sure where this was going, "He lashes out."

"Correct," Athos replied, "And in his anger, instead of striking you, he said something he knew would hurt. He was defending himself, Aramis."

"Defending himself against me?" Aramis asked, confused.

"Yes and no," Athos replied, "He was probably afraid, that if you two had fallen back into place so easily he would get hurt again."

"I don't understand." Aramis replied, his mind buzzing.

"Aramis," Athos said, "when we saw you it felt like we had just got you back. Porthos was afraid that for a second time you might not return with us. He was probably afraid of the pain that it would have caused if you stayed at the monastery. So he pushed you away even further."

Aramis bent down to pick up the wood he had dropped. He felt slightly relieved but still remained unsure of Athos' words. Why had Porthos still remained distant, even after he returned to the garrison with them?

"You have become wise in your old age, Athos."

"Oh shut up," Athos replied, "It's only been four years."

They walked in silence as they gathered more wood. Before they headed back to the camp, Athos placed a hand on Aramis' shoulder.

"You know, Aramis," Athos said, "While we were at war I often sent a scout to the monastery, to make sure there was nothing amiss there."

"You did?" Aramis asked, shocked.

"Of course," Athos replied with a smile, "And every time the scout came back, Porthos was the first to ask questions. He would half scare the man to death to find out every bit of information he could, to make sure you were safe where you were."

Aramis felt warmth spread through his chest and smiled softly.

"Thank you, Athos," He said.

"You have nothing to thank me for, Aramis."

…

Aramis stared up at the starry sky that night. His bedroll was not the most comfortable thing but that was not what was keeping him awake. Every small sound had him shooting up and staring into the darkness. They were in a safe part of Paris, so there was no need for anyone to keep watch. He couldn't help it though. His body was tuned into every moving shadow and his ears focused beyond the sound of his brothers' soft snoring.

He stared at the small puffs of white coming from his mouth; there was something hypnotic about them. His eyes eventually closed as he could not fight sleep any longer.

When he opened his eyes again it was still dark but the forest was very quiet. He turned his head to look for his brothers but they weren't there. There was no fire either, no evidence of their camp. The moon was the only light source. He was completely alone. He sat up and looked around him.

"Athos?" He called desperately, "Porthos?"

His heart was thumping loudly in his ears as he trudged through the snow. It felt like he was walking for ages and suddenly he tripped over something. When he stood up and looked back, his stomach dropped. Suddenly he was surrounded by bodies. There was blood in the snow and the smell of death in the air. He looked down to the body he had tripped over.

"Porthos?" He dropped to his knees.

Porthos' eyes were gazing at the sky like Aramis had done moments before but they held no life in them.

"Porthos, no." Aramis whispered, "Porthos… please get up. Please. Don't leave me alone here, please. Porthos!"

Aramis opened his eyes at the feeling of someone shaking him. Porthos was leaning over him, his skin glowing with life in the fire light. He looked to his side to see Athos and d'Artagnan still asleep. It was still dark but this time the night was filled with the sound of owls and crickets.

"Aramis?" Porthos asked, "You were calling out in your sleep."

Aramis sat up and raked his fingers through his hair.

"I apologise for waking you." He said, not looking Porthos in the eye.

"No need to apologise, is everything alright?"

Aramis looked at him then. No. Everything was not alright. He felt stupid. He was dreaming of past things when his brothers surely had nightmares of their own these days. He had no idea what they must have experienced during the war. Of course during Savoy they had no warning what so ever but war was just as gruesome, just as unforgiving. What right did he have to seek comfort from a brother who probably had his own haunting memories?

He blinked when he realised he was taking too long to reply.

"Everything's fine." He said.

Porthos looked at him and frowned, then his face turned cold and he stood up,

"Very well," He said and walked back to where his bedroll was beside d'Artagnan's.

Aramis' stomach dropped as he watched Porthos go back to sleep. He didn't understand, had he done something wrong? Had he insulted Porthos somehow? With a pang he wondered if he even knew his brother anymore. He stayed awake for the rest of the night and watched the sun rise. He was too afraid to sleep, he never wanted to see Porthos like that in his dreams again, couldn't bare the way his lifeless eyes looked.

…

Once everyone was awake, they packed their camp up in silence. Porthos was clearly avoiding Aramis' gaze and Aramis suddenly felt incredibly lonely. Without his relationship with Porthos being as it used to, he felt hollow, empty like there was something missing. It was painful.

They were riding on their horses about an hour later, on a trail back to Paris. The trees around them became sparser as the time went by but it was a small comfort. Aramis rode behind Porthos and d'Artagnan, and to the left of Athos. He listened as they spoke of things he had missed.

"I can hear it again," Athos said quietly from beside him.

"Hear what?" Aramis asked.

Startled, his gaze danced all around them, looking for the threat that Athos might have heard.

Athos stretched to his left and squeezed Aramis' arm.

"Easy brother," He said, "I was talking about your mind. You've barely uttered a single word since we woke up and I can hear you overthinking."

Aramis sighed, "Sorry."

Athos smiled but then his expression turned more thoughtful.

He tilted his head, "Did you sleep at all last night? You look exhausted."

"I'm fine." Aramis said automatically.

Athos raised a brow which told him he had seen right through his lie.

They continued their trek in silence, save for the conversation between Porthos and d'Artagnan that would spike up every now and then.

"Gentlemen," Athos said once afternoon had arrived, "We need to rest our horses and probably start another camp before nightfall. Aramis, your eyes are the sharpest, would you ride ahead to see if you can find a river? Even if it is frozen over we could always break some of the ice for water, winter has not yet reached its middle so the ice should still be thin. Otherwise we can melt some snow."

Aramis nodded, "I'm sure I can find something."

"Good," Athos said, "Don't venture too far, we'll make camp there under those trees."

Aramis looked where he was pointing and nodded, directing his horse further down the path past his brothers. He looked over his shoulder once he was a few meters away and saw that they were heading to the trees Athos had gestured to. He looked back ahead and turned his horse off the path. He was very tired and his eyes were beginning to droop. They had been through these woods before, and if memory served there was a large river near. Finding water would make everything easy, it would take them much longer to melt enough snow for themselves and their horses.

Aramis sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had to talk to Porthos, he missed him greatly. Athos and d'Artagnan had welcomed him back so easily and to have Porthos back would make him truly happy. He missed all the shenanigans they had got up to, all the grey hairs they had given Athos.

A loud crack brought Aramis out of his musings and he pulled his hand from his eyes and looked behind him. He knew he hadn't ventured far because he could still see the path he had turned off in the distance. Examining the woods near the path, he could not see any danger at all. His horse whinnied and started to step uneasily. He turned to face forward and was surprised by the vast amount of open space ahead of him, where no trees grew.

Before his brain could make sense of what he was seeing, he heard another crack and looked down. Oh. His horse was standing on ice; they were already near the middle of the river. His heart started to beat rapidly as he looked at the growing crack under his horse's hoofs. He looked back and estimated more or less where the bank was. They were too far away and too heavy. They weren't going to make it.

He needed to distribute their weight as much as he could, this he knew was their only chance. Very slowly, Aramis swung a leg back over his horse and climbed off. He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard another crack and looked down. The crack was spreading wickedly around them. His horse side-stepped again, obviously picking up on his master's distress.

"Shhhh," Aramis soothed it, "We're going to be fine. I'm going to get you out of here, just like you got me out of so many sticky situations, old friend."

His horse puffed out a cloud of white from its nose and relaxed slightly at the sound of his voice. Aramis stepped back slowly and guided his horse to follow him. It took an excruciatingly long time to get the animal to turn around and face the bank.

"Alright," Aramis said, "We're going to head back now."

He stepped a little further from his horse and slowly started to guide it forward. It took only three steps forward and the ice cracked again, more loudly this time, disturbing the peace of the quiet forest. Aramis looked down and swallowed hard. The cracks were starting to join. He thought he could call for help or simply wait. But he doubted his brothers would hear him and even if they did, Aramis knew time was not on his side. He had to get his horse off the ice, now.

He took a tentative step forward but it was a mistake. Suddenly the ice had started to crack more, the breaks spreading and branching out sharply and loudly, small chunks of ice shooting out here and there. Not knowing what else to do, Aramis decided that at least one of their lives could be saved. He tapped his horse hard and yelled at the animal to startle it. It worked; his horse sprang forward and ran all the way to the bank in a wild dash, leaving a path of cracking ice behind it. Aramis had only a moment to give a relieved breath before the ground disappeared beneath him.