"YOUNG BLADES"
Author's Note: This was supposed to be a short follow-up to "Secrets"--maybe four or five pages--showing character reactions to what happened and what was revealed.
But everyone knows how Jacqueline and D'artagnan are: they have minds of their own. So I turned it into more of a "what if" story: what if Mazuran was killed, by one of his own henchmen, and they were free to live their lives like they wanted? Then, in a dream, I came up with the idea of the "evil uncle" and decided to give it more of a psychological edge. Next thing I know, it's more of a novella.
As far as the romance goes, I call them as I see them. And these two are the most romantic "old couple" since Zorro and Victoria in the "New World Zorro" series of the nineties. Too, while mysteries and conspiracies are fine--most of the time--I wanted to explore more of a romantic side to my two favorite characters. Let me know if I got the characterizations right.
A lot of fan fiction writers mention Sirroc having been a slave before joining the Musketeers, but I don't remember seeing that in the show, so I added my own spin to how he came to the Musketeers. And as far as Ramón goes, I don't remember hearing how he came to Paris, so I made up something. Forgive me if I deviate from "official" canon.
Jacqueline's evil uncle, the Comte' (who is based on a character from some novel I read years ago), and Kristina (whom I created back in high school for a story in Composition) are all my characters. Everyone else belongs to PAX TV and the wonderful actors (and actress) who bring them to life for us to enjoy. No profit is intended. I just do this to fill in time at doctors' offices.
Feedback is welcome. Flames will be fed to the hogs. YOUNG BLADES"
"BEGINNING OF THE END"
Chapter One:
The date is Friday, April seventeenth, seventeen fifty. It is mid-morning on a cloudy, overcast day in Paris, France. The cobblestone street not far from the Royal Palace is crowded, despite the dismal weather: elegantly dressed riders on finely bred horses, heavy draft horses pulling wagons, and women (most with children tagging along) out doing their daily shopping.
Jacque LaPont is walking down the narrow sidewalk--obviously lost in thought, as he is only vaguely aware of his surroundings. He's dressed in the well-recognized uniform of the King's Musketeers and carries a finely made sword with ease (one hand always on the hilt) as he walks slowly back towards the Barracks.
D'artagnan catches up, catching him by the arm and pulling him to a stop in the doorway of a small unoccupied shop. He too is dressed in uniform and carrying a sword. His manner is kind and concerned as he steps in front of his friend and comrade, "Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you?" His voice is deep, with an upper-class French accent.
Jacque looks up, obviously touched at his friend's concern. His own voice isn't quite as deep and has less of an accent, "I'm sorry to have worried you. But I need to do some thinking. And I need to be alone to do it. I need to get away from that--pit--where the bodies of his victims were dumped. I cannot stand to be there."
D'artagnan forces Jacque to look up, "You are worried about Mazuran?"
Jacque nods, his dark blue eyes serious, "Exactly. For the last two years, my life has revolved around bringing Mazuran to justice, to make him pay not only for the deaths of my father and brother, but also all of those other nameless ones. And for the lives he so callously destroyed, including my own. But now--"
"You are left wondering what will happen next," D'artagnan finishes quietly.
"Oui." Jacque looks around anxiously, but no one is paying any undue attention to the two Musketeers, since people are so used to seeing the four young men in the area near the Palace. But he still lowers his voice (out of old habit), "And now that he is dead--I am not sure what to do. I have no family left anymore, since Bernard killed my brother.
My father was murdered by the same man a year before that. My mother died when I was ten years old. And I have no idea where her parents are--or if they would even care what happened to her and her family. All of the sudden, it is over. With no warning, everything has come to an end with a single act."
Early this morning, Captain Duvall (the head of the King's Musketeers) received word that Cardinal Mazuran (their archenemy and one of the young King's closest advisors) was found dead in his office of a single stab wound to the chest. Knowing the number of enemies the man had made, considering that he led an organized crime ring that controlled all of Paris as well as practicing human sacrifice, no one was really surprised. But what did surprise them were the detailed journals that were discovered in his desk--detailing his criminal activities--including a complete listing of his cohorts and victims.
The King, upon learning of what the journals revealed, plus the long-term investigation having been carried out by the Musketeers, immediately ordered arrest warrants for the men named in the journals, and (at the suggestion of Captain Duvall) issued unconditional pardons for all of those accused unjustly of crimes by the Cardinal.
The dungeons are being searched for the innocent men and women. Money will be given to them, or their families, if they are discovered to be in financial straits as the result of his actions.
A deep pit was discovered not far from the Palace with the remains of several bodies (most of which will remain unidentified due to the advanced state of decay and lack of identifying items). But the King will pay for the victims to be given a Christian burial in a private cemetery on the outskirts of Paris.
Among those being given a pardon are Jacqueline Roget. She was accused by the Cardinal (and hunted mercilessly for two years) of murder. In reality, she simply defended herself and her father from one of his guards. She managed to escape in the confusion and has been hiding ever since.
The Musketeers, being infinitely familiar with Mazuran's activities, were called in to help with the investigation and locating the victims and/or their families. Jacque finally left--without telling anyone where he was going. D'artagnan can't hide his worry for his close friend, "Now--you wonder what will happen next?"
"Mazuran is the reason I became a Musketeer--remember?"
"I remember--all to well."
"I need to decide what to do now. My father's parents are dead. And his brother has taken over the family farm--not that I was on good terms with him prior to that. I never met my mother's parents, so I don't know if they would even care about what has happened to him or Gerard." Jacque looks up into his friend's brown eyes--hoping to see understanding. But what he sees makes his heart skip a beat.
D'artagnan takes his friend's arm and pulls him down the sidewalk towards the Barracks. "Tell you what--let's go back to the Barracks and pack enough for a night or two. I'll tell Duval that we're going to question the families of some of Mazuran's victims, who live out from Paris, which is true. You need to get away, and we need to talk. But this time--I don't want to talk to Jacque, my friend and comrade. This time, I want to talk to Jacqueline--a woman I care deeply about."
Startled at the softly spoken words, Jacque looks up, "Give me a few minutes to pack a few things."
"Including a dress--I hope," D'artagnan flashes a grin, causing Jacque to punch his arm lightly.
Chapter Two:
After an early lunch at a sidewalk cafe, the two leave Paris. Captain Duvall didn't ask any questions, merely telling them to report back what they learn when they return.
Sirroc, tall with curly blond hair (and the brains of the four--being well versed in both medicine and science), and Ramón' de la Cruz (who came from Spain looking for adventure after the death of his childhood sweetheart in an accident), tall and dark with flashing dark eyes (their resident gourmet, poet, and prankster), decide to remain behind and try and locate the victims and their families--seeing to their safety and security. Neither mentions Jacqueline Roget--knowing D'artagnan will see to the young woman himself.
Jacque, mounted on his tall dapple gray Anglo/Arab (Thoroughbred/Arabian cross) mare, Duchess, is content to follow D'artagnan on his flaxen chestnut Anglo/Norman (Thoroughbred/Norman Cob) gelding, Charles.
They leave Paris and it's cobbled streets for the nearly deserted countryside to the north of the city. The forest, here in mid-April, is cool and dark--with a fine mist rising from the ponds they pass and the wide, but shallow, streams that they cross. An hour from town, they turn off the main road and onto a seldom-used side road. Well-trained and used to hours of carrying their riders at a fast pace through often difficult situations, the two horses slow from an easy canter to a cautious walk--especially when the sun vanishes behind the clouds and a heavy drizzle begins falling--making the thick carpet of leaves even more slippery beneath their hooves.
Both riders are lost in their own thoughts.
Three hours from Paris, after taking yet another road--this one even less traveled than the other--they rein up at a small clearing in the forest. Jacque looks at the small, one room, stone cottage, then the small two stall stable (with a paddock), and lastly at a mound of earth--marked by a single roughly carved wooden cross. Though beaten down by a year of wind and rain, it is obviously a fairly recent grave--but no grass grows on it, indicating that it has been carefully tended since the body it holds was first placed there.
A fairly fresh handful of wildflowers lies on top. There is another mound in the edge of the trees, much less cared for and unmarked.
Jacque turns in the saddle to look at her best friend, shocked and hurt that he would bring her here, of all places, a sob in her voice, "Why have you brought me here--to relive the most painful time of my life? I never thought you could be so cruel to me!"
"Jacqueline--I am not being cruel. This is where everything between us came to a head." D'artagnan reins up beside his friend and looks at his friend, "We need to talk--away from anything that could interrupt us." He dismounts and drops the reins, ground-tying the gelding, before turning to help Jacque down, lifting her easily by the waist and holding her briefly against him before releasing her (albeit reluctantly), "I'll unsaddle the horses and turn them out so that they can rest as well. Why don't you go inside and light a fire? We're going to be here a while, so we should be comfortable."
Taking a deep breath, Jacque turns and unties her saddlebags and rucksack. But before she can take a step towards the cottage, he catches her by the arm and hands her a carefully wrapped package that he pulled from behind his own saddle, "And why don't you change into what's in this--so you'll be more comfortable. It will be a few moments before I come in."
Curious, Jacque accepts the package and vanishes inside the cottage. To her amazement, it is spotless (especially considering that three men regularly use it)--with a fire ready to be lit in the small fireplace. There is a small table with two chairs, set with nice pewter plates and flatware. A supply of easily kept staples (coffee--at Ramón's insistence, tea, wine, cheese, flour, a smoked ham, a smoked chicken, dried pasta and beans, and bread) is secure in a small pantry. There is a large bed tucked into one corner of the room--large enough for two--with soft sheets, thick blankets, and fluffy pillows.
"What is he up to," she wonders aloud as she sets her bags down on the edge of the bed. She turns to light the fire with practiced ease and feels the flames starting to take the chill off of the room.
Then she unwraps the linen package to find an absolutely beautiful gown, along with a brush, comb, and hand mirror. Deciding to take advantage of the opportunity that is presenting itself, she quickly changes from the white breeches, white shirt, dark blue jacket, and black boots that are their uniform.
D'artagnan takes his time unsaddling the two horses, storing their tack, and turning them into the paddock to graze. He makes sure that they have plenty of fresh hay (from a feed room) and that the spring is supplying fresh water to the trough in the paddock. He pauses briefly to pay his respects to Gerard, once again promising to look after the woman he loves with all of his heart.
After Gerard's death, in coming out to tend to his grave, he kind of took over the cottage--which had been abandoned since its owner died under rather mysterious circumstances several years ago. He furnished it to be comfortable and left all the staples that might be needed when riding on patrol. It's better than camping out in bad weather or staying in a nearby somewhat seedy inn.
He, Sirroc, and Ramón' have all used it at one time or another over the last two years. And he is already making plans to have Gerard's body moved to lie beside those of his parents on the family farm. He owes both him and Jacqueline that much.
After taking a deep breath, he heads for the cottage door.
Jacqueline turns at the sound of the door opening--hairbrush in hand, but she knows who it is without thinking. She slowly lets out the breath she'd been holding for the last several minutes, forcing herself to relax. She trusts him, with her life.
D'artagnan pauses at the sight of the woman he loves actually wearing a dress of fine dark blue satin, edged in finely made white lace, cut low--but not to low--to reveal a hint of cleavage. The natural waistline emphasizes her natural curves. And for the first time in months, her raven black hair is loose and flowing to slender shoulders in shimmering waves. He casually takes the brush from her hand and turns her around with a gentle hand so that he can run it through the silky strands. "Thank you," she murmurs, relaxing at his gentle touch and actually leaning back against him, allowing him to hold her.
"You're very welcome. Do you like the dress? I picked it out especially for you. I was fortunate in that Madame DeSaud had it in what I think is your size. And I thought the color would bring out your eyes."
"It's beautiful. But you really shouldn't have."
"I know. But tonight, I don't want to be with Jacque. Tonight, I want to be with Jacqueline. And when you change from uniform to dress, it's like your personality changes as well."
Jacqueline turns to face the man she's spent the last two years trying to deny her feelings for--both to him and herself, "What's happening to us?"
"You said you needed time to think--about the future. Well, we need to talk, about us," D'Artagnan's deep voice is gentle as he looks down at the woman he loves with all his heart and soul. He forcibly stops himself from kissing her senseless.
Needing to distance herself, Jacqueline takes a couple of steps away, wrapping her arms around herself. Seeing her shivering, D'artagnan immediately takes off his jacket and wraps it around her before guiding her to a chair in front of the fire. His manner is gentle and concerned, "Here--sit down and get warm. We had a long, cold ride and you must be freezing."
Jacqueline sits down and pulls the jacket tightly around her, inhaling the deep masculine scent that she associates with her best and closest friend, the man she's been in love with for two years. Almost immediately, a glass of wine is in her hand, which she accepts gratefully. She takes a sip, allowing its warmth to flood her stomach. He kneels beside her, a gentle hand on her shoulder for balance, "Better?"
"I will be in a moment. I'm sorry. I hope you don't think I'm some fragile woman who can't even tolerate a moderately hard ride."
"I don't think that at all," D'artagnan chuckles softly, "I know how tough you are--remember? But in this case, there is nothing to apologize for. It was mild and sunny this morning, but then the wind and rain came in. 'Paris in the springtime', what can you say," his attempts to make her smile, and is rewarded with a small one, though a bit watery. "Would you like something to eat? I may not be a gourmet chef, like Ramón', but I can manage something."
"No. I'll be fine. Just let me sit and rest for a few moments."
D'artagnan takes advantage of the time to change from his own rain-soaked clothes into deerskin breeches and a dark blue linen shirt, with its laces untied, revealing a smattering of dark hair. He realizes that he is taking a huge chance by bringing Jacqueline here, but with Mazuran dead--there's no need hide his feelings for her anymore. The big question is a simple one: how will she react when he tells her what is in his heart? His hope is that she accepts his feelings and returns them. Even if she doesn't, hopefully she won't dismiss them outright. And perhaps she will admit that she loves him in return.
Coming out from behind the screen, D'artagnan is amused to find Jacqueline sound asleep in the chair. He chuckles as he kneels besides her, debating about what to do. He's known from the very beginning that she suffered from sleepless nights--a combination of her father's death, her brother's capture and flight to America, his return and death, her own near death at the hand's of the same guard who killed her father, and the things that she's seen over the last two years. Yet--here she is, sound asleep. He recognizes it as a sign that she truly trusts him--knowing that he'll watch over and protect her on the rare occasions when she can't.
After turning down the bed, he kneels to slip one arm beneath her knees and the other under her shoulders. She scarcely weighs as much as a newborn foal, he thinks with a smile, as he lowers her to the feather mattress and covers her with the blankets. "Our heartfelt conversation must wait until you can stay awake," he smiles as he brushes a lingering kiss across her cheek. To his amusement, she murmurs what sounds like his name as she relaxes.