Title: O Captain! My Captain!
Summary: Some thoughts on the Musketeer's inability not to call their former Captain "Captain". Takes place sometime in season two between "Emilie" and "A Marriage of Inconvenience".
Character(s): Treville, various Musketeers, those rascally Inseparables…
Author's Note: This came to me while writing a tag piece for The Prodigal Father. I came to a section where I got stuck and decided to write out my frustration. That became this.
I realized while writing that something about this piece reminded me (vaguely) of the "O Captain! My Captain!" scene in Dead Poets Society so I used the title of the poem mentioned in the movie as the title for this piece. I hope you enjoy.
They were doing it on purpose.
He didn't know whose idea it was but he knew them.
And they had started this, he was sure of it...
It started innocently enough... at first.
A fellow Musketeer passed him in the yard and took of his hat to him, bidding him good day in one word...
"Captain."
He nodded once briefly at the Musketeer's direction but said nothing as he passed. Since the king's sudden dismissal of his position as Captain of the Musketeers, his men (now technically more brothers than sons) were having difficulty adjusting to his new status. Slip-ups were bound to happen, he knew, so he chose to pick his battles instead.
Then there came a day when a messenger arrived at the garrison with orders for His Majesty's Musketeers. An appointment to his former position had yet to be made and, without a clear chain of command, his brothers-in-arms instinctively turned to him for guidance.
"Captain!"
Said brother who had received the King's orders came to a halt in front of him and turned over the papers, awaiting orders from his former Captain as if the King's dismissal were but a mere formality.
He sighed and looked over the orders, giving his opinion on who would be best suited for the task at hand and how it could best be done quickly and efficiently, knowing full well, that even without it being the case, his words would be taken as orders themselves and adhered to as such. And sure enough, before he could even begin to chaste the Musketeer who'd brought the orders to him, the same was away, calling out to the soldiers he'd suggested, no doubt about to fill them in on the Captain's plan.
He'd had it.
Of all the "orders" he'd given, the one they all chose to disregard was this.
And their reasoning for not obeying his wishes?
Well, he wasn't actually still their Captain after all, was he?
Sometimes he loathed the lovable lunatics.
"Captain..."
Oh, for crying out-
"Enough!"
Even the birds settled in their perches.
The entire garrison froze in place, not a word was whispered amongst the men, sparring weapons still in mid-air.
He turned to round on the now four Inseparables that he was quite sure had started all this.
He pinned them all with a look that held no room for their little act of rebellion.
He refused to be called by a rank and title he no longer possessed, even if the rest of his—the regiment still thought of him as such.
And when he spoke his words were low, a dangerous edge of hysterical madness about them that only the four in front of him would, or even could, detect.
"I am no longer your captain!" he hissed. "Stop addressing me as such!"
The regiment shifted uncomfortably as the Inseparables stood in shock and guilt (at having been caught, he thought). Understanding dawned in their features that, while they may have started this affair out of respect for one of the greatest (if not the greatest) and most honourable men they knew, the whole thing... hurt. Stung. Cut to the quick. They had wounded their friend, their brother, their father, their Captain.
By reminding him of his former position as Captain, they too had recalled the king's betrayal, the easy dismissal of one of his most trusted friends and confidantes (second, perhaps, only to the now deceased Richelieu).
By trying to be kind.
He read the apologies in their eyes and sighed in exhausted acceptance of their well-meaning antics.
The Inseparables smiled and bowed their heads in thanks.
And the garrison breathed a sigh of relief.
At least until Aramis, his thirst for danger and digging himself into impossible holes wholly unmatched, replied: "Whatever you say… sir."
Sir…
It was still a sign of respect but one that he could just as easily be called because of his more extensive experience in their common profession rather than because he was a ranking officer.
In a way, it was a compromise… one he'd take.
And at least it wasn't Captain.
But that didn't stop him from pinning the grinning Musketeer with the look the regiment had unofficially named The Captain's Glare of Disapproval.
P.S. Please forgive the random feels that snuck in there at the end… I still haven't figured out how they got there…