When Athos and d'Artagnan finally arrived at the monastery, Athos was also on the verge of strangling the young Musketeer. Athos was sure that if d'Artagnan's curiosity delayed them for even a second more, their company would be short a Gascon.

"Where do you think they are?"

Athos tried so incredibly hard to resist rolling his eyes, but by the way d'Artagnan's stance shifted away from Athos, he figured he had still let slip some sign of his annoyance.

"Let's ask." Athos winced even as the words left his mouth, his tone more clipped that it should have been. "Forgive me, d'Artagnan."

"I understand, Athos. We're all worried about him," the younger Musketeer reassured the older before moving to the main building.

Athos walked alongside his companion and mentally kicked himself for the uncharacteristic break in his façade of emotional calm. d'Artagnan's blatant statement of understanding was like a slap in the face, a cold bucket of water after a particularly long night drinking. Up until that moment, Athos had never considered the level of d'Artagnan's level of attachment to any of the Musketeers but himself. Time after time, d'Artagnan had endangered his own life to save Athos, so much so that Athos was actually beginning to lose count. When Porthos was concerned, d'Artagnan at least seemed to care for the bigger man's well-being. During the events with Bonaire and then Porthos' return to the Court of Miracles, it was clear that some amount of brotherhood was forming between the two. But with Aramis…d'Artagnan always seemed irritated. He supposed this was an understandable thing to feel toward Aramis. After all, Aramis was exceptionally skilled in making light of anything serious (especially womanizing); he always had a joke or sarcastic comment at the ready and always followed up with one those cheeky grins. This trait had even enraged Athos early on in their friendship. All Athos wanted to do was drink away his past; all Aramis wanted to do was laugh the world away. To any who did not know Aramis well, as Athos did not at the time, that facet of his character appeared to be foolish recklessness; he seemed a child unaware of the woes of the world. Athos eventually learned that Aramis was more aware of those woes than most men he had ever met. The lightness of the Spanish-Frenchman's heart was how he dealt with the weight of his mind and memories. So perhaps, if that was why d'Artagnan seemed eternally frustrated with Aramis, d'Artagnan could come to understand this of Aramis as well.

Because of all of this, Athos realized that he had previously and subconsciously assumed that d'Artagnan cared less about Aramis than he and Porthos did. He couldn't help but feel at least a little guilty because a part of him steadfastly believed this to be true. How could d'Artagnan care as much? Aramis, Porthos and himself had been through so much together that it seemed impossible for d'Artagnan to carry the same level of affection and care and worry for Aramis. Even Athos did not claim a bond with Aramis equal to Porthos', Aramis and Porthos having known each other for several years prior to Athos joining their tight-knit group just after the events of Savoy. Having considered this, Athos was both comforted and irritated by d'Artagnan's words. They were all worried about their brother, but he wasn't sure d'Artagnan was capable of understanding as he claimed he did. If he did, we would have arrived here hours ago with Porthos.

As it was, Athos and d'Artagnan entered the monastery's main hall just as the sun descended behind the hills on the horizon. The building was relatively quiet, most of its inhabitants having gathered in the mess hall for the evening meal. d'Artagnan's stomach howled dramatically as their noses filled with delightful aromas that promised a far more pleasant meal than the ones they'd been having on the road. d'Artagnan lifted a foot to wander in the direction of those glorious scents but was halted by Athos' hand on his shoulder before he could move more than an inch.

"Focus," Athos demanded and quickly looked away before d'Artagnan could employ the puppy face. Lord, give me strength, he thought, closed his eyes and released a deep sigh.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. Might I be of assistance?"

Perhaps there is a God, Athos mused and turned to the man who had spoken. D'Artagnan quirked an eyebrow upon seeing the slightest of smiles tugging the corners of Athos' mouth skyward. Athos ignored the expression completely and moved toward the monk.

"Yes, our companion came here early this morning seeking a friend, one of the monks here. Would you happen to know where we might find them?"

"Hmmm. There have been many coming and going today, preparing for war and what not. Do you know the name of the man your companion was seeking? Perhaps they have retired to his quarters," the monk offered with a slightly apologetic expression.

"Ara-," d'Artagnan began but was abruptly cut off by Athos.

"René. René d'Herblay."

"Ah, yes. Come, I will take you to them."

The monk began leading them to the sleeping quarters, and Athos mentally prepared himself for the barrage of questions he knew was coming. When he felt d'Artagnan come alongside him, he took a deep breath before acknowledging him.

"Yes, d'Artagnan."

"I don't understand." Athos did his best not to respond with some comment absolutely dripping with sarcasm. Fortunately, d'Artagnan resumed speaking before Athos' resolve could truly be tested. "René d'Herblay?"

"His name."

"But…I…why? Why doesn't he go by his name all the time?"

"Why does anyone leave a name behind?" Athos was glad when, at that very moment, they arrived at their destination. It wasn't his place to tell d'Artagnan what Aramis had so long kept to himself. If d'Artagnan finds out anything more about Aramis, it's going to be from Aramis himself. It was a sort of unspoken code among the inseparables: the only past you reveal is your own.

"Here you are. Should you require anything, ask any of the brothers. Should you find yourselves hungry, you are more than welcome at the evening meal." The man smiled and then left Athos and d'Artagnan standing in front of the door to Aramis' room.

"Are we supposed to call him René?"

Athos stared blankly at the door and played with the fingers of his gloves. Suddenly faced with the immediacy of the four brothers being united once more, he found himself excited and yet nervous, and these feelings were rapidly giving way to doubt. He was desperately trying to rebuild his wall of calm, but his mind was a battleground.

Everything is fine. What could possibly go wrong? Well, he could decide to turn his back on us. He could side with the Spanish. No, no, surely he wouldn't, not when the war was started in defense of the queen's honor. If Aramis chooses to fight, he will side with the French, with his brothers. Yes, with his brothers.

"Athos?"

"Hmm?" Had d'Artagnan been speaking?

"Do we call him René or Aramis?"

"Aramis. To us, he is, will always be, Aramis." They locked eyes and nodded. d'Artagnan's eyes told Athos that he wasn't satisfied with that answer nor any other given by Athos thus far but he would let the matter go for now.

"Aramis it is," d'Artagnan verbally confirmed, and Athos knocked lightly on the door. They heard a quiet shuffling sound before the door was slowly pulled open several inches.

"Porthos," Athos whispered and dipped his head in greeting. Porthos returned the nod and gave a small smile.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd come at all," Porthos whispered as he moved to let them in.

"Why are we whispering?" d'Artagnan shook his head and racked his brain for whatever cue had suggested the use of hushed voices.

Athos paused in the doorway to answer the youngest Musketeer. "Recall what you know of Porthos and Aramis," Athos began, turning d'Artagnan's question into a teaching moment. "What are Aramis and Porthos typically like when they're in each other's company?"

"Loud."

"And what are they like when one has just returned from being away?"

"Impossibly loud for far longer than normal." d'Artagnan rubbed his head as he recalled the last time that very thing had occurred and the migraine he had developed as a result of his brother's incessant racket.

"Exactly." Athos said no more and waited for d'Artagnan to deduce the reason they were whispering. Porthos stood leaning against the door; his eyes were bright with amusement at d'Artagnan's description of his volume level when Aramis was around. D'Artagnan was growing frustrated by Athos' choice to make this a learning experience instead of simply answering the question. He exhaled and tried to put what he knew together to find the answer so the lesson could end and they could move on.

"When we walked up, we didn't hear any sound coming from the other side of the door. The room was too quiet." He looked to his brothers for affirmation and found it in a slight nod from Porthos. Any relief he felt at finally being able to enter the room and sit down was dashed with Athos' next word.

"And?"

"And?" d'Artagnan echoed.

"There was a second clue."

d'Artagnan fought the exasperated sigh that was begging to be released. Instead he closed his eyes and replayed the scene in his mind. Everything was quiet. Athos knocked. He heard Porthos get up to answer. The sound of it seemed cautious, as if he were sneaking. Why would he be sneaking in Aramis' room? No, 'why' wasn't important at the moment. What mattered was that Porthos was sneaking, and if Porthos was trying to be quiet, he and Athos should probably do the same.

"Ah," d'Artagnan verbally signaled his understanding, but as he looked to Athos, he knew he had to explain himself in order to satisfy his mentor. He quickly relayed the line of thinking that brought him to discover the second clue and subsequently understand the implication of said clue.

"If we're done out here," Porthos nodded his head towards the room's interior. "I think you've spent enough time in the hall, and poor d'Artagnan should sit down after wearin' himself out with all that thinkin'." His last words turned to laughter as d'Artagnan's expression quickly became one of mock offense.

"I demand satisfaction," d'Artagnan returned in his best impression of King Louis. Suddenly the reason for their visit to the monastery was completely forgotten as the two began a wrestling match in the middle of the room.

Athos' quest to find safe ground ended with him sitting atop a table positioned at one end of the room. From his place in the room, Athos took note of four things. First, seeing Aramis had clearly improved Porthos' mood which had become increasingly sour as Aramis' absence wore on.

Second, there was a faint odor in the room, was it vomit? A glance around the room revealed that the two windows were open, indicating that whatever the smell was, it had been noted and was being dealt with.

Third was the location of Aramis. Athos knew he was in the room, but finding him in the small space while two grown men take up most of the space with their wrestling was no easy task. However, there seemed to be an Aramis-sized mound of blankets on the bed with Porthos' blue cloak carefully laid on top. So Aramis was sleeping, the cause of Porthos' long-abandoned quiet. Given the rapid cooling of the early evening air, Aramis had probably gotten cold, thus the addition of the cloak.

Fourth and finally, Porthos and d'Artagnan were moving in the direction of a bedside table upon which a small planter box sat. It appeared Aramis had continued his practice of growing a few medicinal herbs in his room. The thought caused Athos to smile briefly until he recalled the impending doom headed for the window garden. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it and sat back against the wall. The mound on the bed was moving. His brothers had woken Aramis.

d'Artagnan and Porthos were utterly stunned when, out of nowhere, they were assaulted by a pillow. They released their grips on each other and turned to face one hilariously agitated man.

Aramis was standing beside the bed, the pillow held loosely at his side. d'Artagnan thought his hair looked as though it had been repeatedly licked by a cow causing it to stick out in several directions but hastened to banish the thought lest he laugh and further invoke the wrath of Aramis and his pillow. His shirt hung loosely on his frame, and his breeches were wrinkly. In addition to his disheveled clothes and hair, a blanket still clung to his shoulders like a majestic cape of slumber.

d'Artagnan began to grow nervous as Aramis continued to stare at them, his gaze moving between the two men on the floor. As the moment dragged on, d'Artagnan wondered why Athos had not intervened on their behalf. It was then that he heard noise coming from Athos' direction, but he lacked the courage to break eye contact with Aramis who was still staring at them. Finally Aramis' focus shifted wholly to Porthos. He said something quickly to the bigger man in language d'Artagnan was not familiar with (although Porthos clearly was) and then hit d'Artagnan once more with his pillow.

Aramis dropped the pillow, shrugged the blanket off, and fastened Porthos' cloak around his slightly shivering frame before moving to join Athos. Athos, having tried his best to contain his laughter at the sight of Aramis standing over d'Artagnan and Porthos with a pillow as his weapon, completely lost his composure when Aramis moved away to join him at the table. The way Aramis grinned the moment his back was turned to the others made Athos' previous apprehension vanish, much the way the light of day chases away night's shadow.

"Athos." Aramis said his name as if he had been dying to say it for some time.

"Aramis," Athos laughed and stood to embrace his brother.

A/N: You are all incredible! The number of views this story has received has blown my mind. Seriously, I am grinning like an idiot right now. Thank you for the follows, favorites, and reviews!