AN/ Welcome to my new Musketeers story - it's completed so I'll be posting 1 chapter a day until it's all up. I hope you enjoy!

Story Information: The setting for this story is slightly AU. It's set after Season 2 insofar as Constance and d'Artagnan are married, but France is not yet at war with France, Aramis hasn't left, and Treville is still the Captain at the garrison.

There was a clatter of crockery as Porthos set his plate and pitcher upon the table with a satisfying thunk before threading his large frame onto the bench.

'Mornin',' he said cheerily by way of greeting as he dug into his breakfast.

He was greeted by a coy smile from Aramis and a groan from Athos.

'Did we have fun last night then?' Porthos asked Athos, going to slap his friend on the shoulder before seeing Athos' pale, near-green face and deciding better of it.

'Well, I for one, had great fun last night,' Aramis put in as he finished clearing his plate and eloquently whirled his spoon before him, smirking a little in Athos' direction. Athos, for his part, simply sunk his head lower, wishing he could be left to wallow in his pitiful state.

A little of Aramis' smirk dropped away out of concern for his friend.

'Athos? Are you okay? You seem—'

'I'm fine,' came Athos' blunt and rather hoarse reply.

'You're fine?' Aramis queried. 'This is a sorry state you're in this morning, more so than usual. And you certainly don't seem fine. Nor look it for that matter.'

Aramis was right, he was in a far worse condition than he usually found himself in the mornings, no matter how much drink he consumed the evening before. This morning though, even the bucket of ice water wasn't enough to rouse him. He shook himself tiredly and raised his head, frowning at Aramis and then at the grounds of the garrison barracks, where some of the younger recruits and other musketeers were beginning to file in, filling the space with conversation and the racket of steel hitting steel.

Both Aramis and Porthos shared a concerned look.

'Athos?' Aramis queried.

'It's nothing,' Athos grouched. 'Just couldn't shift the headache this morning.'

'You're sure there's nothing more?' Aramis pushed.

Athos responded by wordlessly standing up, pulling his now empty pitcher of water with him, and strolling toward the armoury.

'Well that was… not unusual,' said Porthos.

'It was a little unusual,' Aramis said as he watched his friend's back move across the garrison.

Porthos shrugged. 'So he had one too many than normal, it happens occasionally.'

Aramis pursed his lips. 'I still don't like seeing him that way.'

'He'll be fine,' Porthos said, knocking his friend's arm in a gesture of reassurance. 'We've seen him worse.'

'Aye,' Aramis sighed. 'I suppose.'

Porthos merely rolled his eyes at both his friend's antics and worked on finishing his breakfast before morning muster was called. If luck was with them, they'd escape guard duty at the palace. In the past few weeks, the three of them – Athos, Porthos, and Aramis – had been rotated around guard duty and the task of training some of the younger recruits at the garrison. It kept them busy, but they were conscious of their missing brother.

D'Artagnan had been away on a solo mission for just over three weeks now, and wasn't due back for two more days.

Treville had not, and would not, tell them the nature of d'Artagnan's mission. The three friends were confident in d'Artagnan's abilities, and trusted him to complete missions without them at their sides, but these last few weeks without him by their sides had unsettled them some, and no matter what confidences they had, they could not help but feel some worry towards their younger brother.

Morning muster passed without any undue ceremony, and the three men set about their various tasks within the garrison.

Aramis was instructing one of the newest recruits on how to clean weapons both safely and efficiently when the shout came from the men at the gate. They shouted for the captain, who briskly made his way down the steps from his office, but also for Athos, shortly followed by Aramis' and Porthos' names.

Aramis made the only logical conclusion – that d'Artagnan had returned – and left his post at the range to jog towards the gate. Then he sighted the horse and its rider, and he broke out into an all-out sprint.