It is the response he expected, but still Aramis feels his stomach clench uncomfortably. He has promised to stay here with Porthos, and he will not go back on that, but Athos has long been the embodiment of cool logic, duty, and honor. To disappoint him makes Aramis feel ill, and he takes a drink of his wine, hoping to soak his suddenly leaping nerves.

"I don't know," he says, voice carefully light, "It is easier said than done to peel Constance and d'Artagnan from each other's arms now that they have found their way there at last." He sits up. "We are not idle here. Porthos and I have found a way to keep the city safer, and to chase the evil from its streets." He thumbs at the scar on his throat. "Not everything new in this place is wonderful. There is honor in protecting the innocent, surely. But I will help you search," he promises, his face as pinched with worry as it is hopeful. It is as good a balm as Aramis can offer when he knows he will soon add to Athos' discomfort.

"If you truly wish to return home, you will not quest alone."