Nothing had gone to plan (but then, when did anything go to plan?). Aramis was tired, dirty and wet when they finally made it back to the Garrison.

Porthos and d'Artagnan offered to take the horses and Aramis clapped a hand on Athos's shoulder. At least they were alive and well, for the most part, only a few bruises between the four of them. "Shall we have some wine?"