"No walking until I allow it." Aramis scolded as he wrapped a new bandage around the freshly sewed wound. Athos grumbled something the marksman couldn't understand and he decided not to care. There was no way his brother could walk with a leg like this and riding was no more an option. He sighed, as he knew that it would take days until Athos would be able to leave the farm.
Aramis wiped away the blood of his friend from his hands and the sweat from his brow before he and Porthos half dragged half carried Athos onto an armchair by the fire. A stool supported the injured leg.
"I think there's someone eager to talk to you." Porthos muttered and pointed at the doorway with his head. Aramis followed the motion to find Justine smiling at him. He heard d'Artagnan arguing with Athos, that he wasn't allowed to stand up and Porthos walking around the room, searching for blankets. As he was sure that the wounded man was in good hands, he walked over to his half-sister just to be pulled into a long embrace as he reached her.
"It had been to long, René." She murmured before she stretched her arms, her hands still on his shoulders, to take in the view in front of her. "You're all grown up." There was some sadness in her eyes, but her voice only showed proudness of what had become of here brother. "You are no longer a child either." He took in her flawless face, the long brown hair which ended in a strict ponytail. She had grown since he had last seen her and was now above average height, fitting to the strong arms that were hiding beneath the silk of her dress.
"Now tell me, René, what happened exactly to you and your friends? After all these years… I thought you would never come back and now, you're standing here, right in front of me."
Aramis laid an arm around her shoulder and guided her out of the room and into the kitchen so they would be unheard by the others. He noticed that barely nothing had changed in the years he had been away and smiled gently at the memories. All these hours Justine and he had played in the kitchen just be kicked out by Madame Bonaire.
"We were on a mission close to here as we were ambushed. Athos was cut in the thigh as you can see. This was the closest village and we couldn't afford to ride any longer."
"So you only came because it was necessary?" There was a hint of pain in her voice as she avoided his gaze and looked out of the window. She knew that René ad to have a reason to come back, but she hoped that the reason would be to visit his family. "Justine."
Aramis sighed and followed her gaze onto the fields of wine. "You know I never wanted to leave you, mon coeur de soeur (my dearest sister). But after all that had happened, I couldn't stay."
"You stopped writing letters." She hissed unexpectedly. "Two letters was all I've got from you! You went away and never let me know how you were or what you were doing! All I knew was that you became a musketeer, and then… then you stopped writing! Do you know how scared I was? I never knew if you were alive or dead… the thought that you could have died without any of us noticing… it… do you know how hard this was for me?" Tears filled Justine's eyes, but she was just as stubborn as her half-brother and didn't allow them to fall down. Instead she pushed against his chest, causing him to stumble into the drawer behind him.
"The one thing is to leave father behind. I understood, I really did! But why me?" She shook her head in frustration and stormed out of the room to not let René see her cry.
The marksman sighed as the words sunk in. He knew it wasn't right, he knew it all the time. But after he wrote the two letters – the first one as he became a soldier, and the second one as he became a musketeer – Savoy happened and for a long while he wasn't in any circumstances able to write these letters. And then… he had found his brothers, his true home and he decided to let go.
She was right, he had pushed not only his father but her too away. But every time he thought about her, wrote her, he couldn't stop thinking about everything else that had to do with his family too. And these were thoughts he most likely wanted to forget – so he forget. He knew that it was unfair towards Justine but this was the one and only time he had been egoistic, and all these years he had believed that it had been the right decision. He started to question that now.
As he had caught his bearings again, Aramis walked back into the room where his brothers were already waiting for him. He didn't miss the look in their eyes, as there was no way that they hadn't heard Justine's shouting. Fortunately they seemed to sense that he was in no mood to talk about it and let him be.
D'Artagnan, who hated the tensed mood in the room, tried to break it somehow. "So when will Athos be able to ride again?"
"A few days, hopefully." Aramis turned to his medical tools, that still laid on the table bloodied and washed them before he packed them away.
"Your father said that the guest room will be prepared for us and that we can stay there at long as necessary." Porthos told him and bit back the comment, that the man seemed quite courteous. He hadn't forgotten the words Pierre had spoken to his son as they had entered and knew that there was more to this story than Aramis had told him. But… Aramis had never told him much, so there had to be more anyway.
"The wine is really good." D'Artagnan said with a forced smile, desperate to not let the conversation die, as Aramis didn't answer. Normally it was the marksman who lifted the mood, it was weird the other way around. Aramis only nodded as he remembered the sweet taste as he had first tasted it Marie`s lips. He couldn't hide the smile that lingered on his face at the memory.
"I will see if our room is ready so we can move Athos." Aramis then said abrupt and walked out of the room and up the stairs, that still creaked beneath his weight.
Upstairs, he walked right were the guest room always had been. On the way he couldn't stop himself to stop in front of his old room. A while too long his hand lingered over the doorknob, before he turned it and opened the door. His bed was gone, therefor a big bookshelf and a armchair stood in it's place. The table was still there, a bible laid on it – a new one, not the one his mother had given him, cause this one was well kept in Paris. His fingers touched the leather and traced the golden word on it, before they found the drawer under the table and opened it as well. Aramis closed his eyes for a moment before he shut the drawer with a loud thud again and left the room.
He carefully closed the door behind him again, somehow not wanting that someone knew that he had been in his old room, before he strode towards the guest room, to find the two beds already made and candles lit.