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? :)

Chapter 2

Evening of March 8th, 1627

"Are you still thinking about that?" inquired Athos as he sat down opposite the blond musketeer, placing two frothing mugs of ale on the table. He pushed one towards her.

Aramis sighed, tucking the pendant away. Her hands encircled the mug Athos brought her as she mumbled a thank you.

Ever since their return from Versailles, Athos could sense a shadow enveloping his friend. He stared at her with concern, searching for her eyes that seemed to have disappeared under the blond mane. Her attention was fixated on the drink before her.

"Hey," he said in a low voice. After looking around to make sure no one was looking, he placed his hand on hers in a reassuring gesture.

She finally looked up at him and gave him a weak smile. He pulled his hand away.

"What do you think that woman meant?" she entreated him.

"Pff, who knows?" he uttered, taking a sip from his drink.

"She said all those things about 'the gift of time' and 'where and when' one could end up," she continued.

"As you wisely reminded me back there, she is a lost woman. She is probably a trickster who cheats people out of their wallet," his tone was a lot harsher than he intended, but Aramis did not even seem to notice. She was wrapped up in her own world.

"What if…" she began, timidly. Then, meeting his gaze again, she leaned in and whispered, "what if it was possible?"

He blinked at her a few times before he leaned in to meet her halfway.

"You mean traveling through time?"

She nodded.

He held her gaze again, his stare intensifying. He seemed to be almost prying into her very soul. There was always something in the way Athos looked at her that destabilized her and made her self-conscious. She often wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Even though he had never said anything about it, Aramis was sure that Athos was not fooled all those years she pretended to be a man.

"I think you've gone insane," came his carefully uttered response.

She scoffed at him and leaned back in her chair.

"What do you want me to say?" he prodded. "Of course, it's not possible, how could it?! The idea that you're even entertaining this! Look, I don't fully blame you. It was a strange day to say the least."

"I thought you believed in 'magic and the like'," she countered, mimicking the way he talked. He rolled her eyes at her childish behaviour.

"I do, but within reason," he replied.

"Ha!" she exclaimed. "Now that's a paradox. There is nothing reasonable about magic. That's the whole point of it, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know what the point of it is, now, would I? I'm not a w-," he cut himself off before he finished.

"You're not a what, Athos? A woman?" she lashed at him.

"No, I was going to say a 'witch'," he tempered his tone.

He stared her in the eyes until she seemed to believe him and looked away. Crisis averted.

They sat in silence for a while, drinking and listening to Porthos as he told crude jokes to a group of amused men standing just a few feet from them.

"Wouldn't it… wouldn't it be nice if it was possible, though?" Aramis muttered almost to herself, rubbing her locket between her gloved fingers once more.

Ah, so that's what it was. He exhaled, relieved that his Aramis wasn't, in fact, going mad. She was simply… yearning. She was longing for the memory of her dead fiancée. His heart sank both from jealousy and empathy brought about by her sadness.

She cleared her throat and straightened up. "Well, isn't there a time you would like to go back to, given the chance?" she smiled at him and he could tell she was trying to lighten the mood, to remove the shadow that she had inadvertently placed between them.

"Not in a million years," he answered, taking a generous gulp from his drink. She sent him a questioning glance. If it were any other person, he would have simply walked away from the conversation, but Aramis had a way of making him talk even without using her words.

"Come on, it couldn't have been that bad!" she teased him.

"Let's see, a boring life in the country, married to a woman who did not love me, who stole my money, betrayed me with not one but several other men, then left me after telling me the child she was pregnant with was not actually mine," he pretended to be deep in thought. "Yes, now that I say it out aloud, my answer hasn't changed. Not. In. A. Million. Years."

Aramis burst in laughter.

"Besides," he added, "A life without you… and Porthos. How would I ever survive?" he gave her a wink and took another gulp. The emphasis followed by the pause in his speech did not go unnoticed. She blushed and instinctively tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, to Athos' great surprise. What a very… feminine thing to do. Especially when complimented. Especially when… flirting. Could it be? Is it possible that she, too, could be having the same feelings towards him? Is it…

But his thoughts were untimely interrupted.

"Athos!" she was now practically hissing at him. She had leaned in closer, a look of alarm on her face. "Don't look now but I just noticed this. There is a man in the corner there who has been staring at me for a while. I've never seen him before."

…

The dark musketeer left the table under the pretense of getting more drinks. He concealed himself behind a group of men and observed the stranger. Aramis was right. He was staring at her. Intently. His neck moved around the masses of people who went and came so as not obstruct his view of the blond musketeer.

No, he wasn't just staring at her. He was watching at her.

Athos sat back down with the drinks in hand.

"Act nonchalant," he told her.

"So?"

"You're right. He's neither from our regiment nor is he from the Red Guard. In fact, he's not even French."

"Spanish?"

"English. Of some high rank, as I can tell from his clothes."

Aramis searched her memory. "Well, the only English person I've ever met was the Duke of Buckingham and he was assassinated by-"

"By none other than my wife," Athos cut her off.

Aramis chuckled. "I was going to say Milady, but yes."

He took another gulp from his drink.

"You've been mentioning her a lot more lately," remarked Aramis.

"Have I?"

"It's nice," she threw in.

He almost choked on his drink. "Nice?"

She gave him a warm smile. "Nice that you're opening up a bit more."

"Oh."

He wasn't expecting that.

"We should probably leave," Athos hurriedly said so as to avoid any further awkwardness. "We can go out the back. If he follows us, we'll deal with him outside."

Aramis nodded in agreement.

…

Athos rose and walked a couple of steps towards Porthos, who was entertaining a group of men and prostitutes. He placed his hand on Porthos' shoulder and whispered something to him before rejoining Aramis.

"What did you tell him?"

"I asked him to give us some cover so we can slip out. If you just walk in front of him and I'll walk on the side, you'll be able to get out unnoticed and then, I will come back and –"

Alas, Athos could not finish his sentence before a loud brouhaha broke out and the tavern fell into chaos.

Aramis approached Athos and yelled above the noise, "I think you forgot to specify just what kind of cover you wanted him to give us!" It was at this moment when she spotted Porthos grab a bottle and smash it against the table before he launched himself at a few Red Guards.

Athos exhaled and shook his head, "Evidently."

…

The two musketeers expertly dodged bottles, chairs and fists thrown in the air.

Aramis kept her eyes on the stranger as she attempted to make her way to the back exit. Were it not for this mysterious man, this would have been a lot more fun.

"Going somewhere, pretty boy?"

A slimy moustachioed Red Guard appeared before her.

"Get out of my way, Jussac!"

"How about a kiss first, hm?" Jussac proceeded to make exaggerated kissing noises.

"DISGUSTING!"

She pushed him out of the way.

Alas, he managed to grab her arm and yanked her back.

So much for not getting involved…

A few punches and kicks later, Jussac was writhing on the floor. Aramis straightened up and searched for the stranger. Athos had also disappeared in the crowd.

Then, without warning, she felt a blade to her neck and the stranger materialized before her.

"Not one word, musketeer."

She could detect an accent in this threat.

Athos, who had been swallowed in the crowd, resurfaced just in time to see the stranger's sword slash at the neck of the blond musketeer before she screamed "NO" like a wounded animal. Except, only Athos could hear the agony in her voice.

Then, just like in a dream, time seemed to stop and everything moved ever so slowly.

The stranger yanked the pendant he cut off of Aramis' neck. The musketeer subsequently locked him in a most violent combat as the two wrestled for the amulet as if their lives depended on it.

Then Porthos, who seemed to appear out of nowhere, backed up into Aramis causing her to lose her ground, all the while Athos was held back by a couple of adversaries as he struggled to keep his eyes on the blond musketeer.

This was the moment when Aramis' scream pierced through the tavern. Athos and Porthos looked up to see the pendant flying in the air as if it had a life of its own.

It spun and spun and spun. Athos counted almost seven complete rotations.

The stranger, who was dragged to the floor by a falling Aramis, gathered himself quickly and ran after the pendant. Then, like a phoenix who rose from the ashes, the musketeer leapt from the floor onto a table and jumped from table to table as the two raced for the pendant. Athos had never seen such wild determination and fire in her eyes. It was as though she was possessed.

"ARAMIS!" Athos cried, finally liberated. He went after her but it was too late. She had already jumped off of the last table closest to the entrance and flew out the door and into the cold spring air. By the time he found himself well outside the tavern, Aramis was gone.

…

Her lungs ached as the cold air pierced through them, but she refused to stop running. She ran and ran and ran. Alas, he was faster. Then, much to her chagrin, he found a horse and rode off. She ran in the direction he rode in but after a while she collapsed under the weight of her heavy legs. She found a deserted alley where she sank to the damp floor and gave way to tears.

Francois… the only thing she had left of him, the only thing she had left of her old life, her old self, of Renee, of the only person who had loved her. It was gone. Forever.

…

She walked back to the tavern, her tail between her legs. She was a failure. If only she were born a man. She would have been faster, stronger, better. None of this would have happened. How can she face Athos and Porthos now? She hugged herself from the cold. What will they think of her? They probably already consider her inferior to them.

Why wouldn't they?

She was inferior.

She was a woman.

She tilted her neck back to take a deep breath. This was no time for crying. It was when she looked up this instant that she noticed people staring at her.

Did they notice it too, now all of a sudden after six years of disguise? Did it finally come out, that she was a woman? That the King employed women soldiers in his personal guard?

Calm down, Aramis. That can't be it, whispered her rational self.

She looked up and found herself in front of a bakery.

Wait a minute.

Where did this bakery come from? Had she run that far?

She knew Paris like the back of her hand. She looked around. This was the right intersection. She retraced her steps a few times and back, noticing the names of the streets. Could she be wrong? Was the tavern elsewhere? No, that was impossible. It was here, no doubt.

She stared about her at the people and for the first time she noticed something different: they were dressed differently. They were also staring at her with disgust, almost hatred.

She shrank back from the main flow of people towards this bakery. She peeked in through the window to see if somehow there was something inside that she missed.

"Hey! Hey! What do you think you're doing?" someone yelled behind her.

She turned around, startled.

"Excuse me, I was just… err…"

Before she could finish the man yelled, "Help! Help! Someone is trying to steal our bread!"

"I… no, no! That's not what is it. I'm a musketeer, I would never…"

"A musketeer, eh? Is that what you noble soldiers call yourselves now?"

A few men quickly materialized behind the one who called out for them. They were civilians. But they were armed. Daggers, pistols, pitchforks and batons.

Then more and more of them started crowding.

She instinctively grabbed the hilt of her sword but something told her it was best not to engage.

And she was right.

They descended on her with a fury.

Aramis fled, running as fast as she could.

Good God, she barely had any breath left in her. She could still hear them. And what was going on with these streets? They were somehow narrower with more crowding buildings. Maybe she was not seeing clearly because it was nighttime. Or maybe Athos was right. Maybe it was just the events of the day that rendered her insane. Or maybe this wasn't even Paris.

But it couldn't be. She knew the city. It was in her blood. And yet… why did it feel so hostile and unfamiliar?

She finally found a dark alley where she collapsed behind a large pile of garbage. She sat on the floor, catching her breath.

She lay her head against the wall and took deep breaths. She stayed quiet. The only sounds to be heard were the loud pounding of her heart and the scurrying of rats and mice about her. She covered her mouth so as not to squeal.

When she ascertained that they were gone, she stood up and dusted herself. "Ugh! Disgusting!"

She looked around her. No, she did not recognize this place at all.

Where was she?

Or, rather, said the intuition within… when was she?

She shook her head frenetically. No, not possible, not possible!

Her heart began to pound once more. No, it can't be. This was only a nightmare. If she sat here and fell asleep then maybe she would wake up and it would all be gone.

But the tears came in spite of herself.

Oh God, who was she fooling? This wasn't a dream.

This was real.

The worst part was that she was alone. Where were Athos and Porthos?

…

March 8th, 1788

The Captain of the Royal Guard downed another drink, bringing the total to five empty glasses.

A pair of emerald eyes stared at her with concern. It was the same story for quite some time now. The same pain, the same agony. It seemed sometimes as though they were fated for a sad and tragic life.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened today?" he began, trying to steer his thoughts towards something else.

"What happened?" the Captain gave him a condescending look.

"Ugh, come on, Oscar!" he groaned.

"Nothing happened today, it was a day just like any other day. I don't know what you're talking about," she replied, shrugging and feigning ignorance.

"Really?!" he challenged her. "Nothing happened, like for example at the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles today when you jumped like a crazy person, shrieked and ran off like you'd seen a ghost?"

She held his gaze in contempt for a while before taking another sip and uttering into her glass, "I don't recall."

"Unbelievable! Tête de mule! I SAW you!" he practically yelled.

"Alright fine, keep your voice down."

She leaned in and motioned for him to do the same.

"Look, it wasn't a big deal, alright? It was just…"

Argh, she was so ready to tell him and yet the words just wouldn't come out. What would he think of her? The cold, rational and calculating Oscar Francois de Jarjayes, Captain of the Royal Guard, had seen a ghost fair and square. The problem with that was that ghosts did not exist. So, she was basically insane.

Ah, but she was so sure of herself.

She saw her, right there in the mirror: a woman who looked a lot like her only dressed in a different military uniform. And no, it wasn't her reflection for the apparition moved of its own will. It didn't follow the movements of Oscar at all. It had its own life. Its own life right there in the mirror.

Either she was truly communicating with otherworldly beings or she was officially going mad.

She blamed the ball. What a terrible idea that was. Putting on a dress to dance with a man who can never love her. She blamed the dress, too. One night as a woman and bam! Reason goes out the door.

If only she were born a man. Everything would have been so much easier.

In any case, she did not want to admit any weakness to her interlocutor. Especially him.

She descended back to reality to be met with Andre's face looking at her expectantly.

"It was just a mouse, alright?"

"A MOUSE?" he yelled.

"SShhhh! Do you want everyone to find out that the Captain of the Royal Guard is afraid of mice?"

"Do you expect me to believe that, seriously?"

"Just drop it, Andre, will you?"

He leaned back in his seat. She was appeased.

Alas, her victory was short-lived for Andre was looking about to ensure they were out of earshot. He then leaned in and whispered, "Look, is this about Fersen again? You know you can tell me anything. It's been a while since we talk-"

"Oh my God, you're being INSUFFERABLE!" she yelled at him, cutting him off.

His fists clenched. The shadow of Fersen hung about them like a thick curtain. Of course, it was about Fersen. What else would it be about? Oscar had no space in her mind nor her heart except for Hans Axel von Fersen. As for him, Andre, he didn't belong there. He could never hope to be.

"Pay the aubergiste, will you? We're leaving this instant," she commanded him, rising from her seat.

No, he was only and will forever be her servant. Nothing more.

…

Elsewhere, nearby…

He had followed the mob from afar until they had exhausted their search and dispersed empty handed. Much to his relief. Had he made his presence known and rushed to the musketeer's aid, he would have drawn attention to them both and engaged in an unequal combat, the result of which would definitely have been unfavourable.

It was his turn to search now.

The streets had become eerily quiet this time of night. These streets that he thought he knew so well. Evidently not.

He couldn't be that drunk. He only had one drink tonight, surprisingly.

His reason told him one thing but he knew in the depths of his soul that whatever was happening was something beyond the grasps of reason. He had a bad feeling about it all. The same feeling he had had throughout his marriage, come to think of it.

Magic was at large.

He ventured into a third alley, drawn by a distant sound. It was a muffled sob. Could it be? A ray of hope sprang to his heart. He increased his pace.

"Ar-"

Before he could finish, a pair of arms encircled him and a blade was thrust to his neck.

"Make a sound and I'll kill you."