Le cinquieme lame (the fifth blade)
Disclaimer: I own nothing although in my opinion I should do, I'm not nearly as good as Alexandre Dumas and the guys that wrote and produced the films…but damn it I could be!
I'm not sure if the French title is a hundred percent correct but it has been two years since I last did French so give me a break!
Okay this is my first 'Three Musketeers' fanfic so be gentle with me; I am a massive fan of basically all the movies including the not so good ones like 'The Musketeer' but I love 'em all. My favorite has got to be the Disney version with Charlie Sheen, Oliver Plath, Chris O'Donnell and …the other dude from 24 whose name escapes me…oh and the original book by Alexandre Dumas. So this fic is going to be a mix of the two; characters, names and circumstances etc, oh and with my own ideas thrown in!
The gist of the story is that the Musketeers have become four after saving the King's life (see Disney movie) Three years later they befriend a new recruit but sh-he is more than he seems and he has his own mission; during this quest for justice he uncovers a plot that will once again bring the Musketeers to the fore and endanger his own secret.
I love all the characters; Porthos makes me laugh, d'Artangnan is always hot, Athos is the tortured leader and Aramis…well Aramis is kind of my favorite because he's a mix of all of them so expect plenty of Aramis in this one! Enjoy!
Prologue
Her world was falling apart, it was as though she could feel it crashing down around her and everything was either too slow or too fast to be stopped. She was too slow; she couldn't move and couldn't think, but everything else was so fast it just seemed to pass her by.
His blood washed over her hands, still warm even as he grew colder. Her brother lay limp in her arms as he gasped for breath as he lifted a hand to touch her face and left a bloody handprint upon her cheek and in her hair.
"Don't leave me, Jacques please! Please don't leave me." But he had just smiled up at her tearful face before his body went lax and he looked only as if he were sleeping.
She wasn't sure how long she sat there weeping but it felt like an eternity had passed already as she lifted her head tiredly and finally saw the clue that would lead her forwards, would perhaps take her somewhere unexpected.
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Chapter 1 - Paris
Paris was more than he remembered; smellier and noisy, more alive too; with people everywhere and a hundred different things happening at once. He carefully guided his horse through the busy streets and kept a careful hand upon her purse, after all in such a throng it would be easy for someone to take it. Despite his careful guard he still found himself gazing up in awe at the crowded buildings that surrounded him on all sides. There were so many people too and all of them seemed so different; he watched noble and peasant alike use the same streets although of course this was the better part of Paris and these streets joined the main avenue; the slums further back had few noblemen to be seen.
He joined the main avenue to find stalls and small markets where men and women yelled at passers by to sample their wares. Handsome carriages rolled by and high stepping horses with sneering nobles saddled upon them, cast disparaging glances at everyone else.
He felt suddenly quite naked as though they could see through his disguise, but now he felt lowly in their gazes even though he new he was dressed well enough. He slid off of his chestnut mare and instead walked down the avenue, it gave him a chance to take everything in without the disdainful glares of the noblemen. The gently curving road brought into sight the great palace of King Louis and for a moment he was breathless at the sight of its artistry and magnificence. In that moment he remembered walking in the palace gardens holding his father's hand and watching the ladies of the court gliding by like swans and dressed in their finest. His father hadn't been important, his family name had always been an honorable one and he had made his way through the army as an officer of high rank. They had been there to meet the King, Louis' father, and his father had been given a medal; a medal he kept wrapped in a handkerchief in a wooden box.
The building he looked for was not so beautiful but was just as famous and inspired just as many poets; the head quarters of the King's Musketeers. The pale gold walls rose up like a proud fortress and the crest was carved into the large lintel above the entrance gate, and within the entrance courtyard men in blue and silver thread tunics arrived and departed on horses or hurried from building to building with messages and other such errands.
Few spared a glance for the youth with the chestnut horse so Andre led his horse over to an idle stable hand giving him coin to take care of it and then made his way up the steps to the large doors over which the King's flag and the Musketeer's emblem flew. The heavy wooden doors were flung back to admit the constant stream of men, the entrance hall had a few men within it and they stood in small groups discussing papers that they waved in agitated hands or greeted each other as old friends; two had even taken off their shirts and were sparring, the tapping of their swords echoing in the stone hall.
With shaking hands Andre pulled out the carefully folded letter that held his father's seal, and walked to the closest man that stood alone.
"Pardon me?" He murmured politely, the man's head lifted and his eyes flickered disinterestedly over him.
He looked back down at the sheaf of papers he held. "May I help you?" he replied, his tone suggested that the offer was a mere formality.
"I am looking for Monsieur de Treville." Father had often spoke of the man who recruited and ordered the Musketeers they had, it seemed, been old friends and even Jacques had mentioned him; he prayed he was still here.
"Speak to the man over there." The Musketeer jerked his head in the direction of the shirtless men. Before he could ask which one he spun on his heel and walked off.
He walked slowly over to the two men who had a small crowd of watchers, he noticed with interest the way they watched the elder of the two; he was taller than his opponent and his dark blonde hair fell loose to his shoulders, contrary to the latest fashion which was cut long and tied back. Despite his years only his face showed his age, his body was trim and strong to match his height and was evidence that being a Musketeer saved men from the paunchiness that often came with age.
He frowned at him, he did not seem old enough to be de Treville whom Jacques had named a 'grizzled old tiger' indeed the description had caught on and Jaques had laughed when telling his brother that the Musketeers called him Le Tigre.
It was clear however that this man commanded the respect of those watching especially with the youths that were obviously relatively new, the man also moved with the skill that suggested years of experience and he executed it with grace and something that bordered on nonchalance.
The man swiftly darted in and disarmed his opponent, and there was a smattering of applause from those quickest to recover from the surprise.
He gave a good natured smile and handed the lad back his sword with a short bow. "Enough now m' boy, it seems I have a visitor waiting in the wings."
He turned to Andre as the men moved off and he stepped forward nervously, the man frowned and beckoned impatiently. "Come along lad I haven't long to spare for you. Do you bring a message?"
Andre swept off his plumed hat and managed to bow when his legs wanted to curtsey, he wobbled slightly and the man rolled his eyes when he thought he wasn't watching.
"Sir," He cleared his throat slightly. "I bring a letter of introduction from my father."
He took the letter and glanced at the seal. "Ah, another son who seeks to be the pride of his father." Andre didn't know what to say after all his father was dead, so he stayed silent.
He broke the seal and perused the letter, a frown puckered his brow making Andre swallow nervously; the seal was real enough for he now had his father's ring which had been given to Jacques. He had rubbed a little dirt over it so it looked older but he had forged the letter that had been Jacques introduction, changing the name to…
"Andre de Reldon?" Alexandrie bowed again slightly.
"At your service sir." He murmured.
He frowned again. "Are you perhaps related to Captain Jacques de Reldon?" he enquired.
He tried to calm his nerves. "My father sir."
"Ah, yes of course." He looked the youth over. "We were expecting to see your brother; does he send you in his stead? He has been with us for about five years but I thought his plans were to stay with us for some time, indefinitely."
Andre inclined his head so that he would not see his eyes; men did not cry and he was a man now… "It is with regret that I inform you of my brother's death, I sent no word for I came directly."
"Dead?" The man sighed and shook his head. "That is grave news indeed for he was a good man, my condolences." He sighed again and then seemed to gather himself. "No doubt you shall do as well as both your father and your brother although of course, that is to be seen. We are not often in need of good men my young friend for the King's Musketeers draw men…inexorably. However, in honor of both your father and brother we would take you on; your brother does after all need replacing." He ended solemnly.
Andre wanted to yell his excitement and at the same time wanted to melt into the floor in relief that the letter was accepted and his disguise had so far not roused any suspicions.
"I shall take you directly to see Monsieur de Treville." He began to usher him up the staircase.
"Then, forgive me sir; you are not Monsieur de Treville?" He had already known that but he couldn't think of a polite way to ask his name.
The man chuckled and shook his head, leading him down one of the many corridors. "No lad, but I have been remiss in introducing myself." He stopped and bowed. "I am Athos."
Andre thought he had been struck over the head, his ears were ringing. "You are Athos?"
He gave him a wry smile and continued walking. "Why the incredulity boy, is it so hard to believe?"
"Forgive me!" Andre rushed after him. "It is not that, it is merely that when one dreams of walking into the head quarters of the Musketeers he dreams that he might meet some of the greatest men of our age, I had no idea that I had stepped into such a dream."
They stopped in front of a large door, Athos turned and smiled slightly. "You have a way with words boy, are you sure that this is your life's work?"
New determination flared within him at those words; he would find his brother's killer even if the only clues he had were a scrap of red tunic and a small cross set with garnets. Being a King's Musketeer would open doors that were previously closed and grant him the means to bring the murderer to justice.
It didn't matter about the danger, or even the danger of discovery; the disguise was perfect…after all she was her father's daughter…
"I am sir."
A/N So what do you think, does it have some possibilities? Please Review! xxx