Author's Note:
the original date in Chapter 1 was changed from March 17th to March 8th.
I initially chose March 17th because of its magical properties in Celtic folklore as St Patrick's Day.
However, to fit better within the chronology of the story, an earlier date was necessary so I chose March 8th for International Women's Day. Why couldn't it be just as magical? :)
March 8th 1627
The countryside rolled by peacefully. The fields were becoming greener and flowers were starting to pop up here and there, marking the arrival of Spring.
The tranquility of the paysage was interrupted for the umpteenth time by a loud sigh.
"Really, Porthos, we do this every year," Athos moaned in exasperation.
"What is the big issue, anyway?" enjoined Aramis, approaching her horse close enough to pat her comrade on the shoulder. The giant always seemed to respond to her soothing gestures.
Porthos mumbled something inaudible.
"Porthos doesn't like the Chateau de Versailles, » Athos clarified on behalf of his friend.
Aramis raised her eyebrows. How had she never noticed?
Ah yes, it was probably because they had never been to Versaille alone before. Usually, they went as part of a big royal entourage and were thus too occupied along the road. When they would arrive, the Chateau would already be buzzing with life to welcome the King. Not once had they been to Versaille when it was deserted, least of all when it was just the three of them.
"That place is eerie, I tell you," declared Porthos, finally roused from his mood. "It gives me the chills. Something is not right there, I swear it. It's like there's a… presence or something." Then, pausing for dramatic effect he added with an exaggerated dark tone, "As if it's... haunted."
Aramis' eyebrows shot so far up that they seemed to disappear under her fringe. Porthos and superstitions just did not seem like a plausible combination. Yet she could sense deep apprehension coming from him. Him, the colossal Porthos, who was never afraid of anything. She looked to Athos for reassurance but he only rolled his eyes, shook his head and prodded on.
"Fine, I'll let it go for now…" she said to herself mentally in response to Athos' gesture.
…
The rest of the journey passed in silence. The three musketeers finally made a halt at the top of a hill overlooking the small chateau. It was, in fact, the first time that the task of reconnaissance had been assigned to them before the King's party departed the Louvre for a hunting séjour at Versailles. Only Athos knew that Capitaine de Treville had received a tip on a potential threat at Versailles awaiting the King which had prompted him to order his best musketeers to go ahead first and ensure everything was clear.
Athos sat up straight on his horse, surveying the surroundings below. Unfortunately, his concentration was unduly disturbed by yet another sigh. He clenched his fists tightly so as not to yield to the urge of strangling his comrade.
"Do you know, this place has so much more potential. Just look at it!" exclaimed the grand musketeer. "It could be so much more than it is. It could be bigger, prettier, more extravagant! There is so much land, you could expand it to more than three times its current size. And think of all the luxuries you could furnish it with! Ah, marble statues, walls made of gold, luscious textiles, halls and halls of paintings, oh and wonderful gardens!" He cooed to himself, practically swooning off of his horse. To drive his point home he added, "Now imagine working in a place like that! Who would ever set foot in the Louvre ever again?! I wouldn't. Not if you paid me."
Aramis burst out in a fit of laughter.
Athos, on the other hand, wasn't so amused. "And who is to pay for all of this luxury, pray?"
Porthos glared at Athos, annoyed that his bubble was burst. "I don't know, the King?"
Athos only scoffed, took up his reigns and began trotting downhill while uttering cynically, "and with what money…"
…
The sound of their heels clicked on the tiles as they walked from one room to another. Contrary to Porthos' grim image, the chateau was far from deserted. Servants still lived in it year-round, cleaning and maintaining.
Some of the rooms were still covered in white sheets and not yet dusted nor prepared. The place was minimally furnished with little decorations. Compared to the Louvre, it was mostly empty.
Aramis had to admit, Porthos wasn't entirely wrong. This place was eerie. Moreover, there was a vibe about it that was chilling.
She hugged herself, feeling cold.
"You… don't really believe in those things, do you?" she ventured.
"What things?"
"You know, ghosts and... magic and the like …"
"I think it would be wise not to ignore them," shrugged Porthos.
"And you, Athos?"
"Athos doesn't believe in these sorts of things so don't waste your time with him," Porthos scoffed.
"Actually," Athos interjected, "You might be surprised to know that I do believe in 'magic and the like.'"
Aramis and Porthos looked from each other, their jaws dropped. The ever-rational Athos making such an admission was beyond belief.
"I was married to a witch, remember?" Athos threw in casually to supplement his statement.
Aramis rolled her eyes, coming out of her shock. So that's why. He didn't really believe in magic. "Milady is hardly a sorceress. She was just a woman with… competencies."
"Right," the dark musketeer replied sarcastically. "Remind me, though…how many women do you know who can control animals?"
"It's not unheard of. Farmers do it all the time!" snapped Aramis, without fully knowing why she was defending a woman with a colorful criminal past.
"Funny you should mention that, because Milady had never spent a day in her life on a farm."
"Some people just have a natural affinity for animals…" she countered.
"She did manage to overthrow the King himself and replace him with a twin whom she so expertly manipulated to meet her own agenda and control the country for a time," Porthos put in.
"She wasn't alone in that. And as I said, she's just competent. Nothing about that is sorcery."
"Why are you even defending her?" Porthos interrogated her.
"Because," Aramis clenched her fists. "You can't just accuse a woman of sorcery simply because she has shown herself capable of doing things that are only expected from men. By that logic, then I am a sorceress too, n'est-ce pas? After all, I did deceive you for six years in letting you think I was a man. I know how to use a sword expertly. And I tricked you into thinking I betrayed you that one time..."
Her passionate speech ended with a slight wavering in her tone. She still felt guilty about deceiving them. For both times.
Athos regarded her coolly.
"It's just different," was all he could say. Yes, he had felt betrayed. More so by the second time than by her hiding her identity. The latter he understood and could forgive. However, that moment, when she announced her acceptance of the Captain's post, broke something in him. But perhaps "broke" wasn't the right word. Rather, that short-lived belief that Aramis had left - the sheer idea that she would no longer be in his life - seemed to "awaken" something in him.
"How is it different?" she pursued. "Athos, how is it different?" she repeated when he turned around to walk away from her. Yes, the fences between them had mended but she constantly found herself seeking some sort of reassurance. Especially from him.
Porthos sighed, getting frustrated by this conversation. "Just tell him you like him, already…" he mumbled.
"What?!" she turned to him, flustered.
"What? Oh! Ah, nothing, I didn't say anything," Porthos put his hands up in defence. Blast, his thoughts spilled out of his mouth. To save himself he answered her:
"Look, it's different because you haven't tried to murder us a hundred times over. You never tried to implicate the Queen in a plot. You never worked for Cardinal Richelieu and oh yes, did I mention the part about murdering us?"
Her posture relaxed. She was appeased with his answer, to his satisfaction.
"Not that you know of, anyway," she winked at him as she passed him by on her way out of the room.
"Oh, touché!" he grinned, taking this opportunity to give her a light spank. She squealed then turned back and rained down on him with punches.
…
To save time, the three friends separated and each went to inspect some corner of the chateau.
A sudden loud shriek drew the two musketeers to the room where Porthos was.
They barged in, swords unsheathed and ready to engage.
They found Porthos recoiled against a wall. He was as pale as sheet, unable to articulate.
"What's wrong, what's happened?"
"A… a… a woman!" he pointed across the room. The sweat was breaking out on his forehead. "A woman with wh-white hair. She just… floated in the room and l-left."
Athos and Aramis put their swords away, relaxing their postures upon seeing no immediate danger.
"And where exactly did she go?" questioned Athos. He absolutely refused to fall for these ridiculous allusions to ghosts.
Porthos only pointed to the wall. "Th-the-there…"
Aramis approached him with a look of motherly concern and a bottle of water.
He thanked her and gulped down a handsome amount to calm his nerves.
While Athos went to check the wall for any handles to a secret chamber, Aramis stepped out to check the hallway.
…
She was walking along the wall when a movement startled her.
She turned around.
Nothing.
She could hear her own heart beat in this deserted hallway. Calm down, calm down. Ghosts don't exist…There must be a reasonable explanation for what Porthos saw.
She took a deep breath and resumed walking.
But there, again!
She was sure now. Something or someone moved. Her hand gripped the hilt of the sword tightly.
"Who's there?" she called out, her voice barely a whisper. Her sword in the air, she twirled around herself to spot the intruder.
Then, she saw it.
A dusty old mirror hanging on the wall opposite her.
"Phew, it's only a –"
She drew in a sharp breath, her eyes wide and unblinking.
There was someone there.
Someone in the looking-glass.
"Of course, there's someone, you fool, it's you! That's what mirrors do!" She attempted to reassure herself.
Except, it wasn't her.
The hair was blond and the eyes were blue. Nevertheless, the hair was curlier, the figure taller and the facial features were just starkly different. She wore a uniform, too. Yet unlike the dark blue musketeer's uniform Aramis wore, the woman in the looking glass had a decorated military outfit that was a deep red.
The musketeer couldn't help but be captivated by this vision.
It can't be…
As Aramis looked closer, it seemed as though the Officer Woman had opened her mouth to utter something. Instinctively, Aramis placed her palm onto the looking glass to hone in her focus on the image before her. But as soon as she touched the glass, the Officer Woman disappeared, breaking the spell and startling the musketeer.
The latter let out a scream that echoed into the hallway.
….
The other two musketeers came rushing out to find her grasping her collar, almost sinking to the floor. She looked just as Porthos did a few minutes ago.
Before any of them said anything, she raised her hand to stop them and reassure them.
"I… it's nothing, I thought I… saw something. There."
"Where?" Porthos approached her.
"There in that looking glass!"
"You mean… your reflection?" Athos replied, unimpressed.
She looked back at the mirror and indeed, there she was. "I… yes. That must have been it," she shrugged.
Porthos stayed with her while Athos drifted off into another room.
…
The dark musketeer walked into what looked like a library. It was poorly furnished but then again, the place was only used occasionally.
He perused the titles absent-mindedly when he heard a voice. A chill ran down his spine.
"Olivier… Olivier…"
It was sweet, melodious and it sounded as though it came from far away. As far away as a different time.
He cried out "Who's there? Show yourself!"
"Olivier…"
The voice said again, teasingly, as if amused by the musketeer's reaction.
"SHOW YOURSELF!"
"Athos?"
He turned around abruptly, sword in the air, only to be met by Aramis and Porthos. His heart was pounding.
This voice… how could he ever forget it? But it couldn't be… could it?
"Did… you hear something?" Aramis started.
"No, it was nothing."
"See?" Porthos suddenly exclaimed, startling them both. Usually the two most composed soldiers in the regiment were now at the edge of their nerves. "I TOLD you this place was haunted! First, the woman with the white hair, then Aramis sees a ghost in the mirror and now you're starting to hear nonexistent voices. We need to get out of here right now."
"We have a mission to do. That woman was the product of your overactive imagination. And Aramis only saw her own reflection. As for me," Athos said as he pointed to the open curtain, "it was just the wind."
"Regardless," Aramis began, "I think we should leave. We've visited every inch of this place. I think it's safe to say that there is no threat lurking around."
She was restless, Athos could tell.
"No threat that we can see, at least," Porthos cautioned.
"Fine, let's go," Athos conceded. He, too, was starting to feel destabilized by this whole experience. There is nothing Athos hated more than things that he couldn't explain. But seeing his comrades' faces, he didn't want to linger here any longer to look for said explanations.
…
Out in the fresh air, the mood seemed to lighten a bit.
The three musketeers sipped some water and brandy that Porthos produced from his doublet. They were discussing the route back to Paris when a little boy came rushing up to them.
"Messieurs, messieurs!" he cried out.
He reminded Aramis of Jean. She smiled and bent down to his level. "And who might you be?"
His excitement seemed quelled, now replaced by curiosity and shyness as the blond musketeer scrutinized him. Children had a way of seeing things that were invisible to others. She straightened up and put on her hat to hide her face. Not in the mood to be recognized as a woman today…
"A bad man was threatening my grandma, can you come and help, messieurs, please?" the boy said as he recovered himself.
"And where does your grandmother live?" Porthos inquired.
"Just a few minutes' walk from here. Please!"
Before anyone could protest, he grabbed Aramis' hand and led her to his destination. She glanced back at her comrades, shrugging. Athos stared ahead as him and Porthos followed suit. She seemed to be conversing with the child, trying to garner more information from him in the gentlest way possible. There was something in the way the child held her hand, in how he was drawn naturally to her. As if he didn't want to let go. As if he felt safe with her. Athos felt a warmth settle onto his heart. The Aramis he was seeing before him suddenly transformed into a dress. And the boy she was with was theirs, leading her out into the field to play while he watched them tenderly.
Oh, dear God, oh dear God, what the devil was he thinking?!
Porthos gave him a nudge and nodded ahead to bring his friend's attention back to reality. He knew exactly what Athos must be thinking. Although dressed in men's clothes, the view from behind was still just as attractive. Just tell her already, Athos… This time, however, he made sure he kept that thought to himself.
A little shack materialized before them, into which the boy led Aramis.
…
The place looked a lot bigger on the inside than it did on the outside. It was filled to the brim with all kinds of trinkets. Colorful beads, dried flowers and herbs, an assortment of pots and pans, a large kettle, rolls and rolls of parchment, candles and some other random crafty-looking treasures.
The three friends looked around in amazement.
"What is this place?" Porthos murmured, grabbing a bottle of liquor and studying it.
He almost dropped the bottle when a shrill voice announced:
"Welcome, Messieurs! You are just in time."
Hurriedly, he put the bottle back where he found it.
"Forgive the intrusion, Madame," Athos addressed the stranger. She was a short stout woman, dressed in bright colors. She wore a multitude of bracelets and necklaces and there were beads braided into her hair.
"Only, your grandson has asked our help in fending off a man who was threatening you. Is the man around?"
The woman seemed slightly confused. She looked to the boy and back to the musketeer. It seemed to finally dawn on her. She waved her arm casually.
"Oh, that! Not to worry, nothing I couldn't handle myself. My poor Pierre is often afraid of the tax men."
The three musketeers exchanged glances. Something was definitely off.
"Very well, then," Athos finally spoke after an awkward silence. "We shall be on our way. Good day to you."
He tipped his hat and the three of them prepared to leave.
"Erm, can I interest you in reading your future, perhaps? To show my gratitude for coming to my aid," she added, as if to motivate them to overcome their reluctance.
Athos replied with a firm yet polite no-thank you and began to head back out. Yes, there was something undoubtedly fishy in this place. If he hadn't married one, he wouldn't have believed in witches. And this place had "witch" spelled all over it.
"Aw, why not?" Porthos pleaded discreetly with Athos.
"We don't have time for these shenanigans."
"Are you sure, Monsieur?" came the melodious voice of the woman. "If there is anything we have plenty of, it is time!"
At that, she let out a strange laugh that made even Porthos' blood run cold, totally eliminating any desire he had to stay and hear what she had to tell him about any upcoming conquests with the opposite sex.
"Thank you but we're leaving."
With that, Athos placed his hand on Aramis' back to lead her out since she was closest to the door.
"Come, Mademoiselle! Don't you want to know your fortune? Young ladies always love to know the identity of the man they will marry!"
Aramis froze in her tracks.
Athos turned around, his face now visibly angry. What was this woman insinuating? How dare someone accuse a musketeer of being a… woman? Yes, even though Aramis was a woman, they still needed to play the part. It wasn't only her secret, it was theirs. She belonged to them and they to her.
But before Athos could say anything, the strange woman cooed to him:
"And what about France? Doesn't the future of France concern you, musketeers of the King?"
"What are you talking about?" Athos was at the brim of explosion. Who was this woman? How he loathed, loathed, these kinds of ridiculous theatrics. He had seen gypsies before, trying to trick people into giving them money.
"France, gentlemen… France will fall and burn to ashes, gushing with the blood of its people."
She paused for dramatic effect, savoring her victory of capturing their attention.
"What do you know exactly?" Athos hissed, approaching her. "Is this a plot against the King? Who are you working for?"
"A plot?" the woman laughed heartily. "It is more than a plot, monsieur. It is destiny."
"Tell me who is responsible! We have to stop whatever will happen at any cost!" Athos yelled. He was losing his composure.
"Stop it? You can't stop destiny…"
He pulled out a dagger from his belt and put it to her neck. "Tell me what you know now or else."
At that moment, Aramis remembered the little boy. He had cowered behind her, grabbing her leg for safety.
"Athos…" she moved forward and placed her hand on Athos' arm. He lowered the dagger. "Come on, let's go. She's just a lost woman, don't waste your time," she pleaded with him.
The dark musketeer continued to stare at the woman. She stared back at him in a mocking defiance. Her stare was finally broken by a shimmer that caught her eye on the chest of the blond musketeer.
"What a beautiful pendant you have, Mademoiselle," she reached out and rubbed it soothingly.
Incredulous that someone felt they had the right to touch the person of Aramis, his Aramis, without permission, Athos swatted the woman's arm away with little consideration to the amount of force he applied.
The stranger took a few steps back and reflexively rubbed her arm where Athos had hit her. She glared at him like a wild animal who was just injured.
"What is wrong with you?" Aramis hissed at him through gritted teeth.
She mumbled some apologies to the woman and put down a few coins on the table.
"You are kind Madame," the woman said to her. "Allow me to repay you, please."
She outstretched her arm and beckoned to Aramis for her hand.
The blond musketeer was reluctant. Athos shook his head to signal to her not to do it.
Yet there was something… appealing about the whole thing. Besides, they had done enough damage. The least they could do is to show some politeness.
She gave her hand and the strange woman inspected it. She nodded several times to herself.
"Tragic past… a lost love… and perhaps…" here she paused, glanced at Athos and back at Aramis. The blush on Aramis' cheeks did not go unnoticed by the woman. Aramis was thankful that the woman decided not to pursue the topic of love further.
However, she became more and more uncomfortable, as the woman's attention became fixated on her pendant.
"A ruby can give a woman the gift of time," the woman murmured absent-mindedly. "But only to those who are pure of heart. If destiny calls, then you must answer it. The pendant will lead you where your love awaits. And remember my dear, no matter where or rather, when you end up, love is always the answer."