Constance found herself, as she often had since her new lodger came into her life, in the centre of the Musketeer garrison. So often was she there that she was quite familiar with most of the soldiers, having shared small conversations with some oftentimes. However, when confronted by a stranger, claiming to be searching for a Musketeer named René, she questioned the extent of her knowledge.
"I'm sorry Monsieur, I don't recognise that name. Perhaps you could ask one of the soldiers, hm," Constance searched around the garrison, picking out the older, taciturn Musketeer first. He probably would not thank her for this. "Athos!" Beckoning him over, she explained the situation.
"René?" Athos turned to the short man to confirm the name, and hesitated only briefly before shaking his head. "No, there is no Musketeer of that name."
"Perhaps he works in the garrison, but not a soldier?" Constance suggested, seeing their visitor growing only more irritated by their refutations. She was also familiar with the other staff around the garrison, however, and was even more certain that there was no René among them.
"No," the man sighed gruffly, "I am here to see the Musketeer René d'Herblay. Certainly a Musketeer, and you can trust me on that. I witnessed many an argument over such," Constance frowned, watching a grin form as he seemed to revisit such arguments. Removing his hat, he scratched at his brow, realising that this would not be the short visit he imagined.
"Can you give us a description? How long has he been a Musketeer?" Athos offered, though subtly throwing a withered gaze towards Constance.
"He has been in the service of the King since almost the beginning, if I recall correctly." Their visitor stated, glaring at Athos. "It might make more sense for me to speak with your Captain possibly, as he must have a better knowledge than some on such matters."
"That won't be necessary, Monsieur." A more companionable voice spoke from behind, cutting off Athos' terse reply. "Now, Antione, you should care to show some respect."
"You, René, should know I only show my respect to those who have earnt it." Antione turned, beaming as he drank in the sight of his mystery Musketeer. "This pair has it that I'm mad!"
René's eyebrows raised at his companion, "and you think them wrong?"
"I'm not yet a senile old man," Antione shook his head. "Anyway, I am not so much older than this arrogant arse!" Throwing a thumb in Athos' direction, Aramis momentarily spared his brother a glance.
"Yes well, still mad." Gazing at Antione, René beamed, reaching out to embrace the old visitor. "It's good to see you, old friend."
"And it is strange to see you!" Antione exclaimed as he pulled away, taking in the mature Musketeer once again. "Still such a young face, but you've changed. It's really you?"
"Is it really me? Is it really you? It's been an age." Aramis' smile tempered into something softer, leaving the pair in a comfortable silence for a moment.
That was, until Constance cleared her throat, reminding the seemingly oblivious pair that both her and Athos still stood by, having been left more confused than before.
"Aramis?" Athos found his voice, unfamiliar with being someone who was one or several steps behind. He stared at his brother, for once with only questions and unknowing. He understood some soldiers used aliases and had never actually questioned any of his brothers' pasts, yet now that he had been forced to recognise it he was uncertain of how to proceed.
"Aramis?" Antione repeated, turning back to René's comrade. "You know these two?" Aramis blushed slightly at the question, never having prepared himself for his past melding with his present a second time. "And they know you. As Aramis?"
Nodding, Aramis placed his arm gently around his companion's shoulders, schooling his features to face the curious pair. "Yes, I'll explain later. First, Antione. I assume you're here on some important business?" Turning to Antione, he immediately quashed any questions that remained on the lips of Constance or Athos, and led the stranger away.
"He's René?" Constance asked, to nobody in particular, as she and Athos watched their friend leave them bewildered.
Having led Antione to a quieter spot within the garrison, Aramis dropped his arm from his friend's shoulder and smiled, still not quite sure if he was truly there. He had contacted his family many times, but only through letters as they were so far and his life as a soldier too demanding to ever commit to a visit.
"So, they know you as Aramis?" Antione queried, refusing to drop the subject raised already from his visit. The Musketeer sighed deeply, removing the hat from his head to run a busy hand through his hair. Worrying what issues he would face later with his brothers, he tried to focus his mind on more pressing matters – what on earth was Antione doing here?
"Never mind that, Antione," his older companion raised an eyebrow sceptically, implying that the topic would almost definitely be addressed later. By himself and Aramis' comrades. Rolling his eyes affectionately, Aramis continued, "not that I don't welcome your visit, on the contrary, but how have you found your way into the Musketeer garrison? Surely you have not just strolled along to Paris so that you can question my choice of an alias!"
"Yes, well, I think I have an inkling as to why you chose Aramis specifically. What I find more difficult to understand is why use an alias?" Aramis' glare was soft, yet it would not faulter under such questioning. "You're right, I'm afraid I didn't come here of my own volition, though it is good to see you. I was sent by your father, he tells me you have exchanged letters?"
Aramis nodded, recalling the last few he had received. The volume of letters and depth within had decreased more recently, and the young man was aware of the cause. "It's bad." He eyed a wary Antione, who seemed reluctant as he soon dropped the comic act and began worrying a thread hanging from a sleeve. "He would simply have written had it been good news, if he was recovering."
"I'm afraid you are correct, René." Antione shook his head solemnly, "he has asked if you will come, should you be able. His doctor fears this is most possibly your last chance."
Aramis' eyes grew wide in shock. He had been aware of his father's condition, but not to the extent it had now reached. Despite his somewhat considerable grasp of medicine, he had always imagined his father recovering. Thinking about it, he realises how optimistically naïve he had been.
"Will you come?"
"Of course, of course." Aramis nodded vehemently, "how soon?"
"Well, as soon as possible, his condition is deteriorating quite rapidly. Would you come back with me today?"
"I think I could, yes," Aramis' hand shook once more through his bushy curls as his weight shifted from one leg to the other. "I must speak with my Captain, but I will most certainly come with you."