Everything will change
Nothing stays the same
Nobody here's perfect
Oh, but everyone's to blame
Oh, all that you rely on
And all that you can save
Will leave you in the morning
And find you in the day

In My Veins – Andrew Belle

"Are you sure you want me to go? Of all the times I could choose to leave, this seems like the worst-"

"There could be no better time for you to get out of here," Treville explained, looking through a letter on his desk. Iris fidgeted from her place in front of his desk. Instead of wearing her usual uniform of breeches and a shirt, she wore a plan dress. Her shoulder felt uncomfterbly bare without the presence of the pauldron – instead it was securely packed into the satchel she had dropped off by Aramis in the courtyard.

"After everything that's happened, you must agree-"

"Iris," Treville sighed looking up from the paper in his hands. She swallowed hardly at the lost look in his eyes.

The massacre in Savoy had hit everyone in the garrison hard, but perhaps noone more than their captain. Iris hadn't dared ask him about it, but she guessed that the guilt that was written deeply in his face had something to do with him being unable to help his men.

"If I thought for a moment that your presence here could help, I wouldn't let you go anywhere. Unfortunately," he mumbled, throwing the letter back on the table and looked at her with tired eyes, "you can do no more than I these days."

She watched him as he stood up and gathered the cloak that was slung over the back of his chair.

"All we can do is to rise from the despair we've landen in and continue our lives the best we can. For you, that means finding strength in learning, and for me it means strenghtening our numbers."

"Is that what you're doing now?" she asked, as he picked up his hat that lay on a table in a corner.

"I'm headed to the court of miracles – don't ask," he quickly added as she frowned. Holding the door open for her, he gave her an encouraging look.

"We'll find a way through all of this."

She followed him out of the office, knowing that there was nothing else to say in the matter. They made their way down the hall in silence.

"Be sure to keep me updated on your whereabouts," Treville noted as he and Iris walked out on the porch by his office. "I may need you to do some work for me while you're there – sensitive matters and such."

"Whatever you need captain," she answered with a slight smile. She followed him down the stairs, past the table where Aramis sat, cleaning his pistol. Treville took the reins of a horse that had been prepared for him, and turned back to her.

"Navarre's servant will be waiting for you-"

"At the northern road out of Paris, I remember," she interrupted. He nodded satisfied and mounted the horse.

"Give Navarre my regards," he said before disappearing though the gate. Iris stood in that same spot for a minute before turning back to Aramis.

He was bent over the table, carefully cleaning a part of the pistol. He worked slower than usually, and seemed to pay far more attention then he normally did. Taking a deep breath, she knew she wouldn't be able to delay her own departure any longer.

He didn't look up when her shadow fell over him.

"I'll be going then."

He glanced up at her quickly, and gave her a smile. However, it seemed forced and didn't reach his eyes. Iris bit down on her lip and felt her doubt take over again.

"Are you sure you will be fine?" she asked quietly. His smile faded.

"I'm already fine," he assured her.

"Because I can stay-"

"You're going."

Letting go of the things in his hands, Aramis rose from the bench and pulled her into a hug. Iris held on to him and then let go.

"I'll write," she promised, trying to sound cheerful.

"You better."

It was clear that he pretended to be in a good mood for her sake. Deciding against beginning another argument of why she should stay, she sighed and picked up the satchel she had left by him earlier.

Giving him a last look, she walked towards the gates, determined not to glance back.

A part of her was relieved to be going away. Since the return of Aramis, Treville and the two other survivors of the massacre, she hadn't felt all that comfortable at the garrison. The absence of the twenty musketeers could be felt in the many halls and rooms and most importantly in the courtyard. There was no longer a sound of laughter echoing towards her when she lay in her bed. There was no sound of steel clashing, as no one felt sparring. The silence was becoming too much for her to handle, and for once she felt like she could breathe freely again as she put distance between herself and her home.

But another part of her desperately needed to run back and never leave the place again. As exciting as the promise of adventure sounded, she felt uneasy at the thought of entering the world without a familiar face by her side.

Consumed by the feelings clashing inside her, she didn't pay much attention to where she was going and only realised what was happening in front of her when it was too late.

She had walked straight into someone in front of her, and the impact sent her backwards. A pair of strong, but gentle, hands shot out to keep her steady.

"Forgive me, I didn't see where I was going," she quickly apologized.

"The fault is mine Mademoiselle," a deep voice answered. "It would seem we're both lost in our thoughts."

As he released his hold on her arms, he took a small step back giving her space to really see him. He wore a dark cloak, the thick kind that effectively kept out the cold. His face was hidden in the shadow cast by the brim of his hat. Giving him half a smile, she was about to walk away when he spoke again.

"If I might trouble you for another moment, I'm looking for the garrison of the kings musketeers."

"Have you come to join them?" she asked. After the memorial at the palace, men of all ages had flocked to the garrison, hoping for a chance to be commissioned. Treville had had a hard time keeping up with the sudden attention, and a lot of his time the last couple of days had been spent on strenghtening the numbers of the musketeers. Even before the massacre, they had been fewer than he liked.

Iris didn't mention that she was a musketeer herself – there was no reason to get into all that now.

"If they'll have me," he admitted. She noticed the determination in his voice – he wanted it. But then again, all the men who had come seeking a chance wanted it.

"These days they can hardly afford to send anyone away," she muttered sadly. He didn't say anything and she remembered that he had asked her a question.

"The garrison lies around the corner at the end of this street. You cant miss it," she explaining, gesturing to where she had come from. He inclined his head to her as a sign of thanks and made his way in the direction she had given him. Watching him disappear into the crowd, Iris couldn't help but wondering if she would meet him again, as one of her brothers rather than a stranger. Deciding it wouldn't matter, as she wouldn't be able to recognise him anyway, she turned away and continued north.

Some day, when she would return to Paris, everything would be different. She herself would be a new person. The garrison would have new life. Perhaps, things would be better. Perhaps she would return to find that it wasn't her home any longer.

As she placed one foot in front of the other, her thoughts returned to Marsac again. There had been no word from him, and she had decided she would stop expecting it. Seeing what the events in Savoy had done to Aramis, she could only imagine what they had done to Marsac. Sooner or later he would return – deserter or not – and she would be prepared to forgive him for leaving them. Maybe Treville would understand. Things could go back to the way they had been, she was sure of it. All she needed was to be patient.

In the end, Aramis had to give up cleaning his pistol. Though he could probably do it in his sleep, his thoughts had him too far away to have any sense of what he was doing.

Talking Iris into going away had been the right choice. From the moment she had explained Treville's offer, he had known it would be right for her to get away from Paris for a time and gather some much needed experience. Surely he would miss her, but she would be better prepared for what this life had to offer and that was enough for him. Ever since his return from Savoy, he had felt her watch him, as though he would break any moment, and he felt relief that she wouldn't have to see him suffer day after day. Hopefully, by the time she would return to Paris, he would have found a way to put all of it behind him.

The nightmares that followed him kept growing stronger, and he had taken to drinking more than usually to keep them at bay. This was another thing that had Iris acting uneasily around him. He had assured her that he had it under control, and he was sure that it was the truth. Going through the events of Savoy, seeing his best friend leave, all of that was bad enough without having her hover over him with that worried look in her eyes. Of course she only meant the best for him, but he would rather be without it.

Glancing around the silent courtyard, his eyes fell on a person entering through the gates. A man in a dark cloak stopped for a moment, looked around, and approached Aramis. The brim of his hat cast a shadow over his face.

"I'm looking for captain Treville," he said as he came to a stop next to Aramis.

Another recruit, Aramis thought. A strange feeling went through him; it was only to be expected that men would come running to the garrison at the news of the low numbers of the musketeers. He had seen plenty of men in his time here, fighting for a chance to join the ranks, to become a part of the brotherhood. Only now it felt as though the world was trying to replace the men that had been lost. Some things can never be replaced.

"He's attending business elsewhere," Aaramis explained, rising from the bench. They were just about the same height. "I can pass on a message to him when he returns."

"I'd like to speak to him myself," the man declared, removing the hat. The blue eyes, that for so long had been saddened and unfocused, now shone with determination.

"I'm here to joing the musketeers. My name is Athos."

A few hours from Paris, a man rode towards a great mansion. A look of triumph radiated from him, and he urged his horse forward, eager to pass on the news he carried.

As he reached the stables, he hurried off the horse, leaving it in the hands of the stable boys, and hurried towards the door that lead inside.

Night had almost fallen, and the mansion was covered in darkness. A light flickered as he entered the dining room, where the old maid, Elaine, sat polishing the silverware. She looked up as he approached her, and his eyes slid over the silvery scar on her cheek. Her face fell slightly as she saw the triumphant look in his eyes, and he smiled menacingly.

Continuing through the mansion, he soon came to his fathers private chambers, where he was met by more flickering lights.

"Father, I bring news," he announced as he entered.

The comte stood with his back to his son, looking through the window behind his desk. Age had been kind to him. His hair, once the colour of a ravens beak, had the same silvery colour as his eyes. He was reaching the age of fifty, but in this moment he felt the same energy he had felt twenty years ago surge through him again.

"Do elaborate," he said calmly, though he felt a firery feeling go through his veins.

"She is leaving Paris," Andre explained, stepping closer to his father who still had his eyes on the window.

"Going where?"

"There is no telling, but my men are shadowing her as we speak. They're awaiting my orders to seize her-"

"THEY WILL DO NO SUCH THING!" the comte roared, turning around to glare at his son. Andre frowned.

"I don't see when we will have a better chance..."

"If we go after her now, they will search for her. Those musketeers," he hissed, "will take her away again. No, we must wait for the right moment."

Andrew let out a frustrated groan.

"There may not be another chance – could be months, if not years-"

"We will wait. The day will come when you will bring her home, and you will be damned sure no one will steal her from us again."

The feeling of triumph slowly faded from Andre, as he broke under the intent stare of his father.

"As you wish, father. I will order my men to keep her under watch."

With that he left the room, and the comte turned back to the window.

I will wait for as long as it takes to have you home again, mademoiselle Chevalier, he thought. The musketeers will pay for taking you from me; I'm a patient man. You will be mine again.

TO BE CONTINUED

IN "A CHEVALIER TO REMEMBER"

A/N

To current/future readers: Thank you all so much for reading! Every review, follow and favourite has truly warmed my heart and has urged me to keep writing. I hope you will continue with the sequel "A Chevalier To Remember" - where things heat up and get complicated!

Also, did anyone notice my little nudge towards Porthos?