This mini-series of stories is a collaboration with AZGirl. In chapter 5 of my recent story, Bound and Determined, I mentioned Aramis wearing a "green dress…[that] brought out the gold flecks in his eyes." In her review of that chapter, AZGirl commented that it was a great prompt for a story. Our conversations quickly turned from discussing the prompt to both of us agreeing to tackle two of the Musketeers' experiences that required them to don a dress. The result is a total of four, (mostly), separate short stories.

Each chapter tells the story of one of the guys having to wear a dress and is named after the color of the garment they had to wear. To get the full effect, I recommend you read the chapters in the following order: Green, Blue*, Red, and Black*. (*See: Say Yes to the Dress II written by AZGirl.)

This first chapter, "Green", is pre-series, so no d'Artagnan. Hope you enjoy!


It was true – the color was stunning and even the cut was flattering. They'd foregone the corset, their double unwilling to endure the pain of having his ribs mercilessly squeezed into a shape that would constrict his breathing and his movements - besides, he lacked a bosom to enhance, and no amount of artful compression would change that fact. Thankfully, he had a naturally slender waist, which was enhanced by the bodice that joined at his waist in a delicate "v". At his throat sat a lacy collar, its pearl-shaped buttons clasped up to his chin, hiding a very obvious Adam's apple. From his waist streamed yards and yards of soft, flowing fabric, until it pooled on the ground around his feet. From top to bottom, he was wrapped in the finest of green silk, the bodice embroidered with gold thread, the dark emerald hue contrasting nicely with the white lace at his neck.

The sound of someone clearing their throat caught his attention, and Aramis looked up from where he was admiring his countenance at the edge of the lake, his fingers playing idly with the cuff of one sleeve as he tugged it into place. "If you're quite ready?" Athos dryly inquired, one eyebrow rising as he fought to keep the humour from his face.

Aramis knew he should be more embarrassed than he currently was, but even he couldn't argue that he was the most obvious choice. Athos, while similar in build, still carried himself like a nobleman, the effect of years of careful tutelage as he was prepared to step into his father's shoes. No amount of coaching could remove the very masculine sense of authority that imbued his every action. The thought of Porthos in a dress had the marksman snickering quietly to himself. Even he, with his fertile imagination, could never conceive of a time when the large, broad-shouldered Musketeer could pass for a woman. Besides, Madame Chevreaux possessed a lithe frame and no amount of alteration could make her clothes fit Porthos.

He'd initially been aghast at the idea of donning a woman's frock when his friends had pointedly looked in his direction, but it had taken remarkably little to convince him of the soundness of the suggestion. Athos had reasonably pointed out that he would need to remain alongside the carriage in order to pass through the Comte Tavernier's lands, since he was the only one known to the nobleman and needed to be recognizable while they crossed the man's property. Porthos would need to drive the carriage, and his strength would be wasted ensconced within the conveyance when he could be protecting its contents instead.

Aramis had looked a little desperate then, preparing to argue that another of their group would be a better choice, until Athos reminded him of the special place the marksman seemed to hold in the widow's heart. It was true that they'd hit it off immediately, Aramis' charms coming to the fore whenever in the presence of a beautiful woman, and Madame Chevreaux most certainly qualified. With skin like the smoothest alabaster, she seemed almost angelic, and her somewhat shy nature only enhanced her appeal.

When the Musketeers had gotten word of the threat against her life, deciding midway through their journey that an alternate plan was required, she had immediately turned her large brown eyes to Aramis, beseeching him to protect her. The marksman had reassured her, clasping her delicate hands in his own as he held her gaze. All would be well, he'd said, since no one could outwit the King's Musketeers. No one, it seemed, other than one of their own, as Athos had neatly manipulated him into the position of donning a dress. Still, the marksman and expected the widow to speak against the idea, but it seemed to appeal to her instead, and she'd pulled from her trunk the deep green dress, which she stated would bring out the gold flecks in Aramis' eyes. With those words, the last of his resistance had crumbled.

With a final tug at the cuff of his sleeve, Aramis adopted a neutral expression before turning to face his friends. He noted Athos' typically calm façade, underneath which he could sense rather than actually see the humour that lit up the older man's eyes at the sight of Aramis' outfit. Porthos grinned openly and Aramis inwardly cringed, already anticipating the many hours of torment he would endure for his part in their current deception. Only Madame Chevreaux seemed oddly at peace with the sight, her eyes shining brightly at the image of her protector in one of her favorite frocks.

"Oh, Aramis, it fits you even better than I'd imagined," the petite woman gushed, blushing moments later as she realized the implication of her words.

Ever the gentleman, Aramis smiled back, "Madame, you are too kind. Clearly it is only your wise choice that has made my appearance even mildly acceptable."

The widow's cheeks reddened once more and she dipped her head, unable to meet the charming marksman's gaze. Athos appeared at her side, as he interrupted the exchange, "Madame, your carriage awaits." The older man indicated the somewhat less ostentatious vehicle which they'd manage to secure, and the small group of Musketeers who surrounded it, waiting for their charge to alight so they could continue their journey, albeit by a slightly different route. Wordlessly, Aramis pressed his lips to the widow's hand, leaving her with a last charming smile before Athos took her arm, moving her away from Aramis and helping her alight, firmly closing the door behind her. He took a moment to share some final instructions with the others before returning to where his two friends waited, the carriage behind him carrying the widow away.

"Shall we?" Athos asked, looking pointedly at Aramis who was still standing outside.

Seeing the older man's look, Porthos stepped forward and gallantly offered his arm, causing Aramis to splutter indignantly. Ignoring his friend's actions, he picked up his skirt and made his way to the carriage, intentionally waiting at its entrance until Athos rolled his eyes and indicated to Porthos that he should open the door. The large man did so with a sarcastically stated, "Please, Madame, allow me."

Aramis resisted the retort that hung on his lips as he struggled to climb into the carriage in the many extra pounds of fabric that now covered his frame. Finally managing to slip inside, he fell gracelessly to the seat, arranging his billowing skirt around him. As Porthos closed the door after him, the marksman muttered to himself, "I hope these idiots attack quickly so I can get back into the comfort of my leathers." Seconds later, he felt the large vehicle sway as Porthos climbed into the driver's seat and, with a jerk, they were off. Aramis clutched at the pistols that rested on the seat beside him, shaking his head in wonder at how he'd ever been convinced to put on a dress.


When the bandits targeting Madame Chevreaux finally attacked, Aramis reflected that the incident was the only thing that had gone right for him that afternoon. After spending several hours in the widow's clothes, he'd discovered that while the many layers of fabric might have been pleasing to the eye, the comfort of the one wearing said fabric was not taken into consideration. In addition to the weight, the tight bodice pinched uncomfortably and he became incredibly hot in the airless carriage, the slight breeze outside virtually blocked from entering the enclosed space. He'd attempted to fan himself with his hat until he'd been rebuked by Athos, who'd pointed out that a lady was unlikely to be using a man's chapeau with which to cool herself. Grudgingly, Aramis had complied and left the hat sitting on the opposite seat, casting it the occasional longing look as sweat pooled and then trickled down his back, making the fabric damp and itchy.

He allowed another sigh of misery to escape, deciding that neither of his friends cared about his discomfort. It was as he wallowed that he heard the first cry of warning from Porthos, the carriage jerking forward once more as the horses were pushed to move faster. Hastily, Aramis wrapped the scarf the widow had provided around his head and face, obscuring his features so their deception would not be revealed. His hands then returned to his pistols, the solid feel of their wooden butts reassuring as he waited impatiently to see what would happen.

Soon, he heard the first shots and he cursed himself when the sound made him cringe, his body naturally reacting to the danger even though he was likely the safest of all of them until the carriage was forced to stop. His right hand shifted, his finger slipping against the trigger as he prepared himself to fight. He could hear a cry from Porthos, but it sounded more like anger than hurt, and Aramis gnashed his teeth together at his inability to help.

Leaning forward, he risked a look outside and noted the presence of a half-dozen men who'd closed rapidly, their group quickly surrounding the swift-moving vehicle. As he watched, he saw one of the riders point their weapon in Porthos' direction and his own hand came up as he prepared to retaliate. Aiming carefully, he loosed a shot, withdrawing immediately afterwards to ensure his participation in the battle would remain unnoticed. He smiled at the resulting sound of pain as the bandit fell from his horse when he was struck.

Another minute passed, marked by several more pistol shots and then they began to slow. Aramis risked another look outside and spotted one rider pacing at the carriage's side. He could see no sign of Athos and the man's absence made a spike of fear erupt in his chest. A large rut in the road they traversed threw him sideways, and more profanity passed his lips as he went down hard, his ribs striking the edge of one seat while his loaded pistol flew from his hand. It took him several seconds to gather himself up, the multiple layers of fine cloth tangling beneath his feet as he tried to rise.

Abruptly, they came to a stop, and Aramis just managed to catch himself from a repeat performance, this time throwing a hand out to brace himself against the opposite seat rather than striking it bodily. Shakily, he stood, prepared to give Porthos a piece of his mind for the ludicrous ride he'd had to endure, when he caught sight of a shadow at the door. Without thought, he threw himself at the flimsy covering, his momentum bringing him through the doorway and into the body of the surprised bandit.

Aramis had no hope of stopping his forward movement and the bandit he struck fell backwards off the small step, the two men tumbling to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. Luckily, the marksman landed on top, however the man beneath him was quick to recover and was reaching for Aramis' arms before he had a chance to move. He jerked wildly as he struggled to get his legs untangled enough to stand but, once more, he was ensnared by the long skirt that had wrapped itself around his legs. The bandit still tried to capture the marksman's arms, and Aramis finally pulled one free with a grunt of effort, pulling it back and letting fly with a right hook that had his attacker's eyes rolling up in his head.

With both hands finally free, Aramis flung his entire body sideways, scrambling across the hard-packed dirt for several feet until he rolled to sit on his backside. His chest was heaving with exertion and his hair stuck at his temples as he tugged at the scarf that still covered his head. Tossing the fine piece of cloth aside, he sat slumped, hands on the ground to brace himself, while his legs were flung out in front of him, only the tips of his boots showing from underneath the green dress.

The quiet sound of snickering reached his ears and had him looking up to see Porthos and Athos standing several feet away, watching him with unabashed amusement in their faces. A glance away and at their surroundings showed no one else around, and he concluded that they'd successfully handled their attackers, ending with Aramis' ungainly exit and subsequent fight with the last man.

Porthos' mirth grew and he allowed a large guffaw from his chest, and Aramis could see tears now flowing down his face from the force of his laughter. Summoning his last shreds of dignity as he glared at his friends from underneath his sweaty and snarled hair, he hissed out, pausing between each word to emphasize his statement, "No one ever speaks of this."

Aramis' words only fueled his friends' laughter and he lowered his head, shaking it sadly, as he pondered the teasing that awaited him in the coming days.


A/N: Reminder - "Blue" will be posted by AZGirl tomorrow, and "Red" will be added here the day after.