Paris had never looked so beautiful. Aramis smiled as they crested the horizon and the buildings came into view. Smoke filtered upward from homes, buildings, and estates. He could imagine the activity of merchants busy with their daily activities, the smells of bread baking, the exchange of goods, and coin, the carts filled with vegetables, fruits, dates, and nuts as the import ships arrived and delivered exotic products. He missed the noises of squeaky carts, mumbled conversations, horses clipping their shod hooves on the cobblestone and compact dirt, and the clamoring of doors, windows, and tools. Aramis sighed, rubbed his face and thought about his bunk, a soft pillow, and the camaraderie of colleagues as they sparred, gambled, and joked.
"What's the first thing you'll do when you get back?" d'Artagnan asked and tilted his head to the right. It was all he could do to keep himself from nudging his horse's sides and galloping home.
In unison, Porthos and Aramis answered, "Drink." Both men chuckled and nodded in agreement.
"A good game of cards," Porthos admitted with a long sigh.
Aramis chuckled. "A comfortable bed…" he winked at d'Artagnan, "and not alone."
Porthos laughed, shook his head, and adjusted the reins in his hands.
Treville chuckled, looked toward Athos who rubbed his face and shook his head. Three days rest had done them all good. Athos still coughed, but only on occasion and while it would take some time for him to heal, his escape from the winter fever would save him months of recovery.
"Athos?" d'Artagnan leaned over the neck of his horse and looked around Porthos toward Athos.
"A bath," Treville, Porthos, and Aramis answered for him.
Athos cocked an eyebrow, but couldn't disagree.
"You're not at all predictable, brother," Aramis said, closed his eyes and took a deep breath of fresh air.