Beginnings

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: Brief accounts of our musketeers at the start of season one and then moving forward; where beginning foundations launch close relationships; new adventures; and uncharted personal journeys.

Chapter One: d'Artagnan starts his new life with a heavy heart, but with the help of Madame Bonacieux and the Inseparables gain the courage to move forward.


Chapter One: The Start of Something New

d'Artagnan didn't realize it had stopped raining until he released a breath unaware he was holding in. The steady, relentless pelting on the roof had kept him hostage throughout the night – battering noisily against the little house and in turn pummeling wounds still raw and open with sorrow. Now that it was quiet, he could breathe.

During the night, while he attempted to close his eyes to rest – get some much needed sleep to prepare for the new day – all he could see was his misery falling from dark clouds filled with unmitigated grief. The rain did not soothe him to slumber; but instead only served to aggravate his unsettled nerves.

Rolling over, he sat up slowly and threw the coverlet aside. Goose bumps formed quickly about his arms as the chilled pall in the room rolled down his spine, causing him to shudder. His aching ribs were on fire, but at least the pain distracted him from his sleepless night and how extremely tired he felt.

He sat for a moment to study the small space he would now call his home in Paris. The room was plain, simple – adorned with a bed, a small writing table beneath a window facing the street. A lone chair and a dresser to store his meager belongings sat against the far wall.

He was lucky to procure such a place; his only other option – to sleep in the loft above the stables at the musketeer garrison. With great relief, Madame Bonacieux's most generous offer of lodgings came just at the right moment – despite all the mayhem he had put her through. Smiling slightly, the thought of her auburn curls; dimpled cheeks; smooth bare shoulders and soft lips - pushed aside... briefly, the depression last night's shower had cast over what should have been considered an exciting day.

For this opportunity Captain Treville afforded him, was the start of life anew; a chance to move forward and begin again.

Tentatively, he stretched his bruised torso to test its limits and groaned. Daylight streaked through the curtains and captured dust particles in its wake, reminding him that he must get up from the bed, get moving and not waste time. In one of his fondest memories – he could hear clearly his father admonishing him for such idleness and chuckled with a tinge of melancholy.

Usually early morning hours brought him peace. But ever since death stole his only family – the early morning now brought him uncertainty. He had thought that at least today, of all days, he would feel more cheerful. Revenge had been achieved, his father's killer was dead by his own hand – so everything should look better; feel better, be better….right? Instead he felt a tired, weighted weariness that plagued every muscle and joint in his body.

A cool breeze traveled along through the floor boards and tickled at his bare feet and legs. He wiggled his toes, considered them sadly and sighed. Tired and weary on his first day. Was he to feel this way always; to have this sadness as his constant companion? This did not bode well.

This was to be the beginning of something new – something exciting – a new way of life. He scanned the room again and slumped his shoulders. If only father were here to share in it.

He leaned over, placed elbows at his knees and cracked a yawn. Shivering slightly, he rubbed roughly at his face. He needed to get moving – today was the first day of the rest of his life.


When he reached the kitchen, Madame Bonacieux met him with hands on her hips giving him the once over. It was as if she could see straight into his soul and read what was hidden there.

He felt the heat of her scrutiny reach his ears as she pulled out a chair at the table. "Come eat something before you head off", she offered with a warm smile.

d'Artagnan didn't feel very hungry, but he couldn't refuse the invitation to spend some time with her – even if was just for breakfast.

So he sat and watched as she retrieved warm biscuits from the oven and placed two on a plate before him slathered with honey. He smiled with appreciation and dug in, the lightness and sweetness of it lifting his spirits. Madame Bonacieux wiped her hands on her apron and smiled down at him – pleased.

She turned from him then, moving swiftly about; beginning her chores for the day. As she stoked the flames in her stove, she called over her shoulder. "Did you sleep well Monsieur? Was the room comfortable? Is there anything you need?"

When she turned to look at him, she noticed the dark smudges beneath his eyes. But before she could comment he answered, "Everything was fine. Thank you."

So she nodded politely and moved to draw the curtains open. Bright sunlight cascaded through and they both squinted at the brightness. She cracked the window to let some of the cold air in and the heat from the oven out – beads of sweat already forming on her forehead. "What a beautiful day", she exclaimed. "The rain has left a nice feel don't you think? Everything seems washed clean and fresh."

d'Artagnan nodded again and bowed his head, finishing off the last of his biscuits. The rain for him only served to leave behind pain and guilt.

A solemn pause permeated the warm cheery room. Today was to be her tenants first day as a recruit at the musketeer garrison. Shouldn't he be a little more excited? Maybe he wasn't well – his injury bothering him?

"How do you feel then?" she ventured to ask and moved toward him, unsure how much to push. She did not know him well, but already perceived a stubborn streak, and a strong sense of honor.

d'Artagnan looked to her earnest face, and wanted to answer her queries truthfully. How could he tell her that he wanted to feel happy, but his father was dead? That he wanted to be excited, but guilt and grief suppressed it just below his rib. He itched to draw his sword and learn from a master, but his limbs were heavy with exhaustion.

Yearning for this adventure was what got him through last night's tortuous memories of blood mixed with rain. Long held dreams of the pauldron on his shoulder; and of serving with the heralded musketeers, now choked thick beneath the lump in his throat.

He could not form the words to answer, so only stood to depart and get the day started.

Madame Bonacieux smiled up into that serious face, and oddly enough, wished he would share his thoughts with her. "Go on then", she shooed instead, stepped to the door and opened it wide. "Enjoy the day."

d'Artagnan nodded with respect and remembered his manners. "Thank you Madame", and crossed the threshold of her door out into the streets of Paris.


As he passed over into the garrison yard and left the side streets behind, d'Artagnan's heart beat with some apprehension and the fluttering in his stomach caused the sweet taste of honey to reappear in the back of his throat.

All around him men gathered in groups of comradery, waited below the balcony or ate at scattered tables set about the perimeter. He stood still – uncertain of what was expected, or which way to go.

Over the den of noise and whirl of activity, he heard someone shouting his name. "d'Artagnan!" Porthos called out and cleared a path toward him – a force of nature not to be deterred. "Good morning lad", he laughed and clapped a hand at his back.

The joyous welcome enveloped d'Artagnan like a warm blanket and calmed his nerves. He swallowed down the painful lump in his throat and genuinely grinned up at the big man. He shyly returned the greeting and let the imposing musketeer lead him over to a table where Aramis and Athos sat breaking fast.

"Come join us, sit down here. Have you eaten?" Porthos continued – pushing a tin of bread toward him.

He sat and held up his hands in concession. "Yes, I've eaten. Madame Bonacieux has fed me well." The three musketeers nodded in his direction and continued with their meal accompanied by raucous banter.

d'Artagnan shifted uncomfortably in his seat; uneasy amongst their display of exuberance. And over time, felt Athos' eyes on him – regarding him openly with a curious expression. Suddenly he felt exposed – the redness of his eyes obvious; the exhaustion of his limbs evident; the pain of his injury visible and the grief in his heart laid bare.

Sighing heavily, he looked away from such close inspection, and stared warily out to the yard where musketeers practiced their trade with vigor. On his first day, he would not be able to function; lift a sword, fire a weapon – fight hand to hand. And Athos could see it all.

Captain Treville then called for muster from the balcony. The regiment of men moved as one to stand beneath and hear orders for the day. He heard through a haze the Captain order recruits to the shooting range, and felt Aramis turn him bodily and point him in the right direction.

As everyone made to move and go their separate ways, he felt anxiety grip his heart. Was this what he should do? Would his father approve? Should he not be tending to the farm? What was he doing here? This isn't where he belonged – not really. He should return home, to Lupiac, where things were familiar and safe.

When he came to himself and thought to leave – at his side Athos stood still and quiet. d'Artagnan bent his head and let his hair cover the crimson stains of embarrassment on his cheeks.

Athos laid a hand at his shoulder and squeezed with a firm grip. "Go begin the day d'Artagnan. Your father would be pleased."

d'Artagnan gasped in a shuddered breath and let a solitary tear break free from the corner of his eye and track down to his cheek. He had not let himself cry since that terrible day he held his father dying in the mud. When he swiped the wetness away – Athos had left his side, moving on to other things.

Frowning, he looked toward the garrison gate; toward Athos' retreating figure; and then to the shooting range – and there Aramis waved him over with a good natured gesture for him to hurry. He smiled freely then, and rushed to begin the start of something new.


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