A/N What can I say, I felt like writing drabbles :P Each one of these is exactly 100 words and they involve our favourite musketeers, Treville, Milady, Constance, Planchet, Raoul and small mentions of Anne, Louis, Grimaud and Richelieu. Do let me know if you think I should write more of them, or if you would like to read one about somebody else.
Enjoy!
Sometimes, Treville wondered if fate had a cruel sense of humour. His mother had always hoped for a girl that would one day take her place as a midwife and help take care of the local children. Treville was definitely not a woman let alone midwife but as the captain of the musketeers, he often felt like one. Most of his days were spent scolding his musketeers for their mischief, having to clean up the mess they had caused before the King and Cardinal or worrying about their health as they had gotten injured yet again. Wicked sense of humour.
XXX
D'Artagnan had left his parents back in Gascony but he found his true family in the musketeers. Athos was as much of a father as he could be, a role model, a protector, always willing to guide him to avoid the traps he himself had fallen into. Aramis varied between a mother figure when he was injured and an older brother helping and guiding him in all Athos forbid when he wasn't looking. Porthos was like an uncle, proud of D'Artagnan when he scored with women, loud and friendly and always getting him out of trouble with the other two.
XXX
Occasionally, even she couldn't believe just how gullible men were. All it took was a pretty face and golden hair, a secret smile, a touch of a soft hand, the guise of innocence in her eyes and voice and they practically fell over themselves to do whatever she asked of them. It was so easy to use it against them, to reach her goals. Not even Richelieu was immune to her powers, much as he thought he held the upper hand since she needed him. Milady knew the truth though; he was a man, a weakling, so easy to use.
XXX
Planchet never quite understood the upside-down logic of his masters when it came to injuries and illnesses; he was slowly starting to see why his aunt always shook her head exasperatedly at her male patients. Shoot them, stab them, poison them, torture them and the musketeers will try to run away from the bed the very moment nobody is looking only to collapse later. But if any of them caught a trivial cold, they moaned and demanded sympathy for their utter misery, refusing to do anything but rest in bed moaning pitifully, claiming that death was near. It was confusing.
XXX
Aramis was standing before a dilemma he wasn't quite sure how to solve. Last night had been spectacular, an evening to remember as the musketeers celebrated their latest triumph over Richelieu and Aramis had the pleasure of spending it in the company of several ladies. Unfortunately, he was a bit hazy on certain details and holding three perfumed handkerchiefs, couldn't for the life of him remember which belonged to whom. He had managed to narrow it down to about five candidates before he got stuck. Oh how to solve this to appease all and not get killed by scorned women?
XXX
Treville realized that he had been giving his musketeers far too many missions involving dressing up as women lately when he had announced another one, presenting them with the clothes of the latest male fashion and they looked at the garments puzzled, unable to figure out how to put them on. They struggled until Porthos joined them, his eyes lighting up like a child's and showed them how to dress, looking as if he'd arrived in heaven as he put his own garish model on. Finally dressed, Aramis and D'Artagnan eyed the clashing colours and began mourning after the corsets.
XXX
When they were young, they didn't think they could ever die, no matter the danger they put themselves into for King and Queen and France. Years later, they were far more aware of the possibility of death but even when they said goodbyes as if they would never see each other again, they still believed that against all odds they could pull through. It mattered little what ended their lives eventually, illness, dagger, old age or poison. They were together again, the inseparables, even in death. Grimaud wiped away the tear for the fallen heroes from his old stoic face.
XXX
Sometimes, Athos pondered the special connection between Aramis and Porthos. When somebody pushed Athos or D'Artagnan, Porthos would come help them; when the same person pushed Aramis, they found themselves on the floor with their head split open. When Athos or D'Artagnan didn't understand what Aramis was saying, he shook his head exasperatedly; when it was Porthos, he explained it again calmly using simpler words. When needing help, they always went to the other first, when going out they preferred each other's company. For all of their verbal and physical fights, they were true friends most people only wished for.
XXX
Constance blushed prettily as Anne gave her a knowing look and released her from duty for the rest of the afternoon. The musketeers had returned from a longer mission an hour ago and it was clear to everybody that the young lady in waiting wanted to check up on her dearest D'Artagnan and hopefully spend some time with him. On the other side of the palace, Louis smirked at the antsy youth kneeling opposite him and gave him the permission to leave since the others could finish the report themselves. Oh young love, how sweet it is to those involved.
XXX
Twenty years had passed and none of them changed as much as Athos. D'Artagnan was more jaded, Aramis slightly less refined, Porthos wealthy, but deep down they were still the same. On the other hand Athos, the drunkard, the loner, the definition of melancholy, had lost the taste for wine and found the taste for life. The boy that adored him had taken all those years off of him. Stern but caring, he looked at young Raoul with affection, wanting to protect him from the world but knowing he would have to let him go soon. The cycle of life.