There's something in the water
I do not feel safe
It always feels like torture
to be thisclose
I wish that I was stronger
I'd separate the waves
Not just let the water
Take me away
The Water - Hurts
The sound of raised voices had also attracted Aramis and Porthos, and the two of them joined Athos and Iris by the stairs. Treville was descending them with D'Artagnan following him. The informant lingered at the landing, watching with apprehension.
"Did my ears deceive me, or has there been another murder?" Aramis asked, a frown forming. When Treville nodded, each of the musketeers felt a bad feeling settle in their guts. Had they solved this case, another life wouldn't be lost. Treville looked thoughtful and glanced at them all.
"This cannot continue... you'll go straight to the source." Turning to Iris, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Did you not reside with monsieur Lavelle some time ago?"
"I have not spoken to Henri in months..." she admitted with a frown.
"Henri Lavelle is the man in charge of the informants," Treville explained and shook his head. "But he is a difficult man to find. As he is one of the few who can actually identify the informants he often travels to a new place for an unknown period of time."
"I believe I know how to find him," Iris added, and turned to hurry down the corridor that led to the rooms.
"Why have we not gone to see Lavelle before now?" Athos questioned.
"I didn't think it would be necessary. There's few people who are aware of the identities of the informants – Iris and myself being two of them. Lavelle supervises it all, so he will be the obvious person to begin with."
Turning around, Treville spotted the informant who still stood on the landing.
"You can go now," he said in a decisive voice. The informant cringed at the sudden change in the captains mood, and with a respectful nod he hurried through the gates. Just then Iris reappeared, carrying a slightly wrinkled piece of paper.
"He wrote me some time ago, offering me to come by his lodgings in Melun whenever I had time," she explained as she came to a stop next to them.
"With a quick rest on the way, we can be in Melun by noon tomorrow," Porthos noted.
"Then you better get going. Be ready to leave within the hour," Treville instructed.
Richelieu groaned and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Reading through the countless documents on his table was tiresome – but his job demanded it. When the secret door opened, he welcomed the distraction. The woman from before came through, followed by a young man who seemed nervous. Noticing the look on the woman's face, Richelieu felt his sudden excitement fade.
"Do you bring me bad news Milady?" he asked, watching as she turned expectantly to the man who had followed her.
"Your eminence," he began, bowing to the cardinal. "As always, I'm honoured to be in your presence-"
"Yes, yes, very well. Tell me what you know," Richelieu interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. The man swallowed hardly and looked at the cardinal.
"As we speak, the musketeers are preparing to go see a man called Henri Lavelle..."
His words trailed off as the cardinal straightened in his chair.
"You assured me that there would be no problems with Lavelle," Richelieu hissed threateningly at Milady. Keeping her face calm, she slowly began pacing.
"His death would have brought unnecessary attention – of course, now he cannot be allowed to live. He was fool enough to betray the musketeers once, he will not make that mistake again."
Glancing at him, she raised an eyebrow and urged the young man to continue speaking.
"I understand they're leaving as soon as they can, the captain was very distressed. Only..." the man stopped speaking and looked at the floor.
"Only. What?" the cardinal asked, the cold calmness of his voice sending shivers through the man.
"Only, they sent me away before mentioning where they were going."
"I've secured someone to follow them, and take out Lavelle before they have a chance to speak to him," Milady hastily said, sensing the rage that was building in the cardinal.
"Surely a man we can trust to keep his mouth shut, should he be captured," Richelieu asked, clenching and unclenching his hands.
"Naturally," she assured him. As she made for the man to follow her through the door again, he moved towards the desk and looked pleadingly at the cardinal.
"Our deal still stands, does it not your eminence? I have done as you asked, I've brought you valuable information-"
"You have brought me a barely adequate amount of information," Richelieu sneered, folding his hands in front of him. "If you think I'll give you anything before I've reached my target, you'll be very disappointed."
Packing only the bare necessities, they were ready to leave the garrison within the hour.
They made their way through Paris quickly, and once they reached the open fields that surrounded the city, their pace slowed as Iris explained more of the man they were going to see.
She had met Henri Lavelle little over a year ago, on behalf on Treville to gather information on a case she had been working at the moment. Henri showed to be a strange sort of man – though he seemed to be a loyal sort of man, she had at times wondered just how much his loyalty would stretch. Still, as they rode through the stony roads, she found it hard to believe that he would betray the musketeers in such a way. Looking after the informants was his sole purpose, as he had mentioned to her on one of her brief visits. He felt it was his contribution to the country.
As the sun began to disappear behind the trees, they started discussing where to make a stop to get some rest before continuing to Melun. Though they could find ways to navigate in the darkness of the night, there was an agreement that a few hours of rest would do them all good.
Iris had drifted towards the rear of the group as the terrain shifted from small roads to forest. She was usually lucky with her sense of direction, but nothing around her looked recognisable. Despite not being familiar with their whereabouts, a strange feeling had slowly been building inside her. Almost as if she should be aware of something, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it...
"I believe if we ride on for another half hour," she heard Athos say," we should reach a small village, connecting with the lands of the comte Demont."
"As long as we find a warm bed and perhaps a bottle of wine, I'll be satisfied," Porthos called over his shoulder. Aramis chuckled and shook his head at his friend.
"Securing a bed should be the least of our problems – I have heard rumours of the... shall we say, hospitality of the people from these parts."
"Be that as it may," D'Artagnan said, cocking an eyebrow, "I'll venture a guess and say the majority of us prefers a bed in an inn than something so informal."
"Don't be so sure," Aramis answered, and got a mischievous look in his eyes. "I remember how, on a hunt through the woods, we decided to rest where we were. Finding the ground too cold and hard, Iris climbed a large tree and fell asleep on a broad branch several feet above the ground. Said it was the best sleep she had had in a long while, do you remember Iris?"
There was sounds of muffled laughter from the others, but he heard no response from Iris. After a moment, he turned in his saddle and frowned as he noticed she had fallen behind.
Athos' words echoed through her mind, growing louder and louder ever second.
The strange feeling she had carried for a while, sensing that she should be on her guard... but of course. She hadn't given much thought to their direction, and she barely recognised the surroundings because she had spent years avoiding going just this way.
Her hands were shaking violently as she brought her horse to a stop. This could just as well be the place where she had encountered Treville, that night many years ago. Which would mean she was closer than she had ever been before. Closer than she ever wanted to be again. Feeling as though something was about to break inside her, she became painfully aware of the four men who had turned their horses around to look at her.
"You okay there?" Porthos called, the laughter from before gone. He exchanged a glance with Aramis who frowned back at him.
"You know, the faster we get there the faster you'll be rid of us," he offered, hoping his joking would ease the tension that had appeared. Iris forced herself to look at them, and tried to speak.
"I'm..." It almost sounded like a sob, and she bit down hard on her lip, tasting blood. Not now. You cant do this in front of them. "I just... I need to take care of something. Go on without me."
With that she turned her horse around and urged it in the direction they came from. Porthos cleared his throat.
"That was strange," D'Artagnan voiced after a moment.
"A woman needing a moment alone? I think we'd better comply and carry on," Porthos said and began turning his horse. Aramis seemed thoughtful, but then sighed and turned his horse as well.
"I think I'll stay behind," Athos muttered, watching the place in the trees where she had disappeared. "I got the feeling she is unfamiliar with these parts."
"Might want to give her a few minutes before going after her," Aramis warned him. "Whatever her mood might be, she's not appreciative of being followed when she's explicitly asked otherwise."
"Have a bit of faith," Porthos joked as he, Aramis and D'Artagnan continued on their way. "I'm sure Athos can handle one woman's mood."
As Aramis had warned him, Athos waited a few minutes before bringing his horse into a slow walk. It shouldn't come as a surprise that Iris would need a moment alone – after all they had been on the road for some time. Normally, they wouldn't think much of something like this, but travelling with a woman would bring some changes no matter what.
Turning a corner, he began frowning. Just how far had she gone? They were losing the light by the minute, and though he was in no immediate hurry, he found himself itching to get his hands on a bottle of wine.
After a while with no traces of her, he urged the horse to move faster, and started to feel a strange worry. Though there had been no traces of their pursuers from a few weeks ago, he couldn't help but feel as though they hadn't seen the last from them. When he saw the horse Iris had been riding down the road, he felt the worry melt away, only to reappear again almost instantly.
She was nowhere to be seen. Iris hadn't even bothered to tie the horse to anything. Sliding down from his own, he fastened the reins of both horses to a nearby tree and began surveying the area. There seemed to be no signs of a struggle. For whatever reason, she had disappeared on her own. Straining his ears, he heard s rustle of leaves nearby, and made he way into the treeline.
When he finally spotted her, he stopped and tried to determine whether or not to make his presence known. Her back was turned to him, and she was leaning against a tree, one hand placed on the trunk as though to keep her stable.
As she just stood there, he began feeling his patience thin. It had been one of those days he just wanted to end.
"Are you ready to move on?" he said after a moment, moving closer. When she still didn't react, he exhaled deeply and walked towards her.
"I don't know what this is Iris, but we're losing light and-"
His words trailed off when he came to a stop in front of her and saw the look on her face.
Iris felt it coming from the second she rode away from the others. The shaking in her hands had moved to the rest of her body, and without fully understanding the severity of her reaction she knew what was coming.
Everything she had kept locked away in her mind, all the memories and thoughts of this place, this wretched place, came thundering back bringing nothing but pain.
You've walked straight into the lions den without realising it, she thought as her heart began beating faster. Her throat seemed to close and her lungs felt tight – much much too tight.
She had felt something like this before, especially in the time after she had left the mansion. Normally, it would be the reaction to a nightmare or the rare sighting of someone who looked suspiciously like either the comte or his son. But this was something entirely new. Stronger, wilder, and she had no idea how to control it.
They'll know. They'll know, and they'll come for you, a voice whispered inside her mind, forcing another sob though her already closed throat.
Feeling her breathing spin out of control, she leaned against a nearby tree as it all began to overwhelm her. Closing her eyes, she could imagine it all too clearly. The moment she set foot on Demont's lands, someone would have recognised her and rushed to bring the news to the comte. He would send someone for her. They would see her part with her four companions and smile at her mistake – she had made it too easy for them. In the state she was in, she would be too shocked to fight it. Before she knew it that someone would have brought her back to the mansion. And that would have been it. No matter how well she could defend herself, there was no fighting Demont. Just the thought of him could bring her to her knees. She wasn't strong enough to face him.
When she felt a pair of hands come to rest on her face, she felt a jolt go through her. Could it be that her line of thoughts had been true?
Opening her eyes she vaguely recognised the man who stood before her. She gasped under her breath, and felt tears of frustration sting her eyes. I cant control it...
"Iris! What happened?" Athos demanded, carefully turning her head, forcing her to look at him.
"I cant... I cant breathe," she managed to whisper.
"We'll deal with that first them," he said calmly, "You need to relax. Find something to focus on."
"I cant..." she repeated, closing her eyes again. How can I focus on anything, when everything inside me is a mess?
She felt him brush away one of the tears that had made it's way down her face. Much gentler than she would have expected.
"Me then. Focus on me," he continued, in the same calm voice.
This was what she got for spending years denying what her life had been like. Whenever she had been confronted with something that reminded her of her past, she would always find a way to move the conversation onwards. This she would not be able to talk her way out of.
Deal with that later, first you need to calm down!
Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes once more and did as he asked of her – she focused on him.
Though the expression on his face was calm, his eyes showed worry. She hadn't realised how close he stood to her, almost as close as they had been in the alley a few weeks ago. He had worried for her then as well.
Iris hated it when people worried about her. She knew she wasn't supposed to, she even appreciated the gesture of it, but god, she hated it. More often than not it made her feel week. Standing with Athos now, she felt weak in an entirely different way. Without realising it, she had leaned into his touch, feeling the tightness of her lungs slowly fade away. He blinked and let his eyes search her face – such a lovely shade of blue. It had never occurred to her to look at his eyes, really look at them, before now. To be fair, the last time she had been close enough to really see them they had been in danger of being discovered by their mysterious pursuers.
"Deep breaths," he quietly instructed, watching her closely. It took her another minute to somewhat regain control of her breathing. In the end she was still shaking slightly, and her heart was beating faster then it normally would.
"Now," Athos said, taking a deep breath himself, "explain to me what this was all about."
A/N
Next up; Iris tries desperately to put up her walls, Demont and son discuss what they'll do next and Athos deals with an innkeeper who assumes too much...