Five days after black and red collide
The motion sickness past, I'll be the first to stand
Behind that weathered door, I thought it would be safest
My head is dizzy now, I thought we'd overcome
We might not make it home tonight
Get Up – Barcelona
"You must really think you'll miss us if you're willing to spend a night here," Aramis mused loudly as he and Iris made their way towards a free table in a corner.
"Think? Of course I will miss you – two months is longer than you think!" she called over the sound of the crowd.
Tomorrow a group of twenty or so musketeers would set off on a training exercise to Savoy, Aramis and Marsac included. Though she usually avoided the taverns in Paris, she had agreed to join them this once as it was the last night she would spend with them in a long time.
"I'm sure the queens guardian will find something to do in our absence," he joked as he took a seat. Iris fell into the chair next to him with a groan.
"You know I hate that name."
"I like it. Gives you an air of mystery."
"Because mystery is what she lacks," Marsac said sarcastically, appearing at the table with three glasses and a bottle of wine. Pouring one for each of them, he raised his glass.
"To good company," he toasted.
"To new adventures," Aramis joined in.
"To being left behind," Iris finished, with mock enthusiasm.
Marsac drained his glass and gave her a sympathetic look.
"We wont be gone forever."
"I'm aware. All I'm saying is, it would be nice to at least be invited." Iris took a sip from her own glass, and fought to hold back a grimace. Wine, alcohol in general, had never agreed with her. It was just as well, she liked to have a clear head. Aramis leaned towards her.
"Surely Treville has his reasons to keep you here – after all, Paris will fall if all the best musketeers aren't present to protect it."
"I'm hardly one of the best, but I appreciate the sentiment."
"Hardy one of the best," Marsac repeated with a snort. "You've been a musketeer for just about five months, and you're a natural. Definitely one of the best."
"Well, I have to try to be don't I?" Iris burst out, frowning. "With the king, the cardinal, the other musketeers and just about everyone I meet breathing down my neck expecting great things, I don't see much choice if I want to keep wearing this."
She gently tapped a finger to the pauldron on her right shoulder. Ever since the day Treville had presented it to her – almost completely black leather with the symbolic fleur-de-lis, surrounded by an elegant floral pattern – she felt incomplete without it.
"I feel bad for anyone who tries to take that away from you," Aramis grinned and leaned back in his chair. "Besides, great things are expected of you because you do great things. There's a reason you're the first female musketeer."
"Speaking of great things," Marsac said with a nervous glance in her direction. "Have you decided on whether or not to accept Treville's offer?"
Iris bit her lip and looked thoughtful for a moment.
"I feel no wiser today than I did when he offered it."
A week ago Treville had called her into the office for a private conversation. She had taken place in a chair by his desk and looked expectantly at him.
"Do you remember the first time I brought you to the palace?" he asked, folding his hands on the table.
"The day of the attack? I recall. You wanted to run something by me," she remembered, looking at him curiously. In all the confusion, she had forgotten why she had even been at the palace in the first place.
"I wanted to take a chance to talk to you about your training – but with everything that happened I forgot all about an offer I wanted to make you."
"What offer?" Iris leaned closer to him in her chair.
"I have a friend, monsieur Navarre, who owes me a favour. He and I were soldiers in the same regiment once, years back," he explained, eyes growing distant at the memories of his younger days. Iris waited patiently for him to continue.
"Anyhow, as he grew older his strength started to leave him, but his spirit stays strong. Navarre is a wealthy man, and he likes to take on a new challenge."
"How do I fit into this?" Iris asked with caution, unsure of where the conversation were going.
"I want to propose an opportunity for you to seek him out and be properly taught – be it fighting or something else entirely."
Iris watched him in silence, a frown forming.
"You wish to send me away? Have I done something wrong?"
"This isn't a punishment, it's a chance for you to grow more experienced. You've only been a musketeer a few months, and though you've done remarkable work, I believe you have the potential for more. You're also still very young and have barely set a foot in the world. Navarre takes pleasure in travelling every now and then – I'm sure he would bring you along."
"Wait, how long am I supposed to stay with him?"
"However long you need to," he muttered with a shrug. "Think about it, and be sure to remember what this could mean for you."
Picking up her glass, Iris looked at Marsac and Aramis.
"I don't see how I can decline something like that."
"I still say you should do it," Aramis weighed in, nodding to himself. "If it's not what you expect it to be, you can always return to the garrison."
"A solid argument," she said, her voice trailing off. They sat in silence, before Aramis suddenly leaned forward in his chair.
"You must excuse me, but I believe I have an acquaintance to make before taking off," he mumbled, eyes locked on something in the distance. Iris turned her head to follow his line of sight, and saw one of the barmaids sending glances at Aramis every other moment.
Putting on a charming smile, he rose from his chair, and winked at his friends.
"I'll see you both in the morning."
Iris watched him disappear into the crowd and turned back to Marsac.
"Don't let me keep you from seeking out... friendlier company as well," she teased. Marsac let out a laugh and quickly drained the contents of his glass.
"I was actually considering turning in early to get some proper rest before tomorrow... I doubt there will be much chance to sleep once we're on the road."
"Can we go back to the garrison, then? It's starting to get a bit too loud for my taste in here," she pleaded. Marsac followed her around the tables and into the cool air.
The light had started to return, but even though it was nearing the ending of March, the weather still had an icy feel to it. Feeling a sudden stab of pity for the musketeers who were to camp outside, she realised that she might be lucky to stay behind where a warm bed waited every night.
"How he time after time does this is beyond me," Iris noted as they walked back towards the garrison.
"Aramis has never been one to deny himself anything," Marsac explained.
"And yourself?" Iris asked, glancing at him through the beginning darkness.
"I suppose I'm more of an... watching from a distance sort of man."
"I can't imagine that gives many results," she chuckled. Marsac gave her a slight smile.
"You're not wrong," he muttered under his breath.
A group of musketeers passed them from the other direction, moving towards the tavern they had just left. Tonight was to be a night of celebration before going away. Iris and Marsac nodded to them and fell into a comfortable silence the rest of the way.
The garrison was chaos the next morning. Treville had set off to the palace for some last minute meeting with the cardinal – guard duties at the palace were to be split between the remaining musketeers and the red guard.
As the musketeers set off for the meeting point, Iris weaved her way through horses to where Aramis and Marsac were getting ready.
"You sure you have everything?" she asked, reaching out a hand to stroke one of the horses.
"More or less," Aramis grunted from the ground where he was filling a satchel with small bags of gunpowder. Marsac fastened a saddle on his horse and turned to face her.
"We'd better be off."
"You both behave then," Iris said with a sad smile, giving Marsac a hug. He held on to her for a moment and let go. Aramis stood up and received a hug as well.
"Don't do anything stupid while we're gone," he teased, giving her a mock version of Treville's usual stern look. She laughed as they jumped in their saddles. As they looked down on her, her smile faltered a bit.
"Just come back in one piece, all right?"
"That's a promise I can make," Marsac said as they made their way towards the gate. Iris stopped and watched them leave, an uneasy feeling settling in her gut. Not knowing how or why, she was sure things would be different when she saw them again.
Over time, Iris had grown familiar with the halls of the palace. The servants had stopped openly staring at her, when she passed by, and if anyone did glance an extra time she had grown accustomed to ignoring it.
After becoming a musketeer, Iris had taken to wearing men's clothing. Her blonde hair was tied back, and her female curves just showed under the leather jerkin she wore. A series of belts held different weapons. The blue cloak that was formally worn by the musketeers was draped over her shoulder.
She turned down a hall and made her way towards the queens quarters. In the three weeks since the departure of Aramis and Marsac, Iris had taken extra work to keep herself occupied. The queen had requested Iris to act as a shadow as she went about her duties in the palace, and Iris had gladly accepted. Though the work itself was very quiet and involved a lot of standing still, she enjoyed being in the presence of Anne.
She noticed the tension in the room the minute she walked through the doors and greeted the queen. Her ladies stood to the side, whispering furiously. When they saw Iris, they all turned quiet. She let her eyes wander over them, and back to Anne.
Anne was sitting in a chair, clutching a piece of paper. Her hair, that was usually beautifully styled, hung down framing her face. She looked up when Iris entered and took a deep breath.
"Oh Iris," Anne began. Iris froze. At the palace, she wasn't used to being called by her first name.
"You seem troubled, your majesty."
Anne's eyes turned sad.
"I just got word from the king – something horrible has happened in Savoy."
Time seemed to slow down. The uneasy feeling she had been walking around with since seeing her friends off roared to life and engulfed her.
"... they say it was a Spanish raiding party..."
It felt as though a fist of iron was closing in on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
"... it happened in the night, they had no chance to defend themselves..."
Iris fought to get herself back to reality, to listen to the queen who was still speaking. The sadness in her eyes had turned to pity.
"... I understand if you feel like you cant be here."
"I'm... forgive me your majesty, but I didn't hear that last part," she heard herself say distantly. Anne rose from her chair and walked closer.
"The loss of twenty of your comrades – I cannot begin to imagine what you must feel."
"Twenty," she echoed soundlessly.
The queen reached out and took one of Iris' hands in her own. She didn't realise before now that she had started shaking.
"I will understand if you need to take a few days to grieve," Anne said softly. Iris felt a lump form in her throat.
"My duty is to guard you, your majesty."
"Your sense of duty is memorable."
Iris spent the day feeling as though she might break at any moment. Hours later, when her shift ended, she almost ran to the stables, and rode back to the garrison.
The news had reached the other musketeers as well, and she was greeted by a heavy feeling of grief.
When she reached the door to her room she felt the tears form in her eyes and she desperately searched for her key so she could disappear from sight. As she forced it inside the lock a strangled sound escaped her lips and she slit inside the moment the door was opened.
Sliding down the wall, she let go of the facade she had held all day at court.
Twenty dead musketeers, killed in the night. No chances to defend themselves. No news of who were still alive. If Aramis... or Marsac...
The thought of Aramis and Marsac, brought a fresh wave of pain over her. Iris had to bite down hard on her hand to regain some sort of control over herself. Physical pain was something she could handle – the emotional wasn't.
It would take another three weeks before anyone heard any news. The musketeers at the garrison had lost every hint of joy, and a great dark cloud seemed to hang over them all. They would look up with sudden hope at the sound of someone passing by the gates, and then disappear into the despair again.
Iris was sitting on the steps of the staircase in the courtyard, absent-mindedly pushing her dinner around the bowl with her spoon. Lately, she didn't seem to be able to eat anything.
"Iris."
At the sound of her name she slowly lifted her head and felt the air leave her lungs.
Aramis stood in the gate, holding on the reins of his horse. He looked beaten and tired. There was a vacant look in his eyes, but he seemed relieved to see her.
The bowl slipped from her hands and crashed down the steps before crashing to the ground. As though floating she moved towards him, making sure not to blink as though he would disappear if she did.
She didn't realise she was crying before the tears ran down her face. For the first time since hearing the news from the queen, she felt the iron fist around her chest loosen it's grasp.
He pulled her into a tight hug, and the two of them stood like that for a long time finding comfort in the other.
"I thought... I kept thinking..." she whispered against his shoulder. He tightened his grip around her.
"I've thanked God every day since that you were nowhere near it," he croaked. Iris tensed at the sound of his voice. It was bare of all emotion.
"I should have been there, I should have done something-"
"Then you would be dead as well."
She pulled back and looked at him. There was no fire in his eyes, no charming smile on his lips. No nothing.
"I'm so sorry Aramis," she whispered, her voice breaking. Moving a hand to brush away the tears that still flowed from her eyes, she glanced over his shoulder.
"Where is Marsac?"
A shadow slid over his eyes and for the first time since his return she emotions on his face. Sadness, betrayal, regret.
"Is he..."
Somehow she couldn't bring herself to say it. Aramis slowly shook his head.
"He's not dead."
"Then where is he?" she asked as confusion swirled inside her. Surely, if he was alive he would be here. Aramis closed his eyes and seemed to hold back a storm of words. After a moment, he spoke with a controlled voice.
"He's gone Iris. He's not coming back."
A/N
Doing a bit of a time jump with this one, but it seemed necessary to get where I needed to be. I've been considering working on a few one shots of what they've been up to in the "lost months".
Anyway, Savoy time. I've been wondering how to tackle it, and there will be more of it in the next chapter. Incidentally, the next will also be the last of this story. Loose ends will be tied up, but plenty must wait as they're essential for the sequel.
Till then, thank you all for reading. It's now more than 1K views which is simply fantastic. Keep an eye out in the next chapter - Iris meets a beloved character and some horrible people make evil plans...