This story is a gift to my friend btamamura, who has been going through a dreadful time for so long. I wanted to show my support and encouragement. Please enjoy! And I'm going to say this right off the bat- my OC in this is gay. If that bothers you, nobody's forcing you to read this, got it?
The Three (plus two) Musketeers stared down at the escargot on the platter, the piece de resistance, like wolves cornering prey. They raised their forks in unification, as they would their swords; with a voracious gleam in each gentleman's eye, and a cry of "One for all… and each man for himself!" the race was on.
Porthos was the hungriest, Albert was the nimblest, but D'Artagnan was the fiercest in competition. The poor creature demonstrated unusual haste for its kind as it barely managed to dodge its pursuers. It weaved its way around mug and plate, across the infinite space of the table, until it soon had nowhere left to crawl…
"Grab it!" Athos cried to D'Artagnan, who was closest to the end. Their brun leader pounced at the exact moment the snail took its chances with a jump… and just missed by an inch, tumbling flat onto his face.
The snail frantically crept towards the exit, escape so near and yet so far, leaving behind a trail of slime. "Five Second Rule!" Porthos cried.
"Charge!" D'Artagnan dove at it again, but slipped in their little friend's parting gift.
Porthos counted down as D'Artagnan continued his attempt to score, although the ooze continued to thwart him. "Five… four… three… two…"
"Cut him off!" called Albert.
D'Artagnan got smart. He was on his feet immediately, and vaulted clean over the snail just as it reached the door. Startled at this unexpected action, the snail froze and retreated into its shell.
"One!" finished Porthos. D'Artagnan gave his prize a forceful nudge with his right foot, sending it bouncing off his opposite knee, and into the palm of his hand. "Victory, gentlemen!" he exclaimed. "No lowly creature gets the best of D'Artagnan!"
"Hooray! Long live D'Artagnan!" the others cheered.
"Nicely done, my friend," grinned Albert. Winking, he added, "By the skin of your teeth, too. You certainly have a flair for dramatics."
"Yes, well… that's my style, you know," replied the Gascon with semi-modesty, oblivious to Albert's tact.
With a declaration of "Slimy, yet satisfying", he was just about to savor his catch, when Aramis grabbed him by the arm. "I say, D'Artagnan! You're not actually eating that, are you?"
D'Artaganan rolled his eyes. "Aramis, it's fine. It passed the Five Second Rule."
"The snail touched the ground! It's more compromised than a lady's honour!"
"It didn't touch the ground, first of all, it touched the floor- and just barely!"
But Aramis looked revolted. "And do you know what else 'barely' touches the floor, ground, or whatever?" he pressed. "Roadkill! Horse droppings! Blood! Dirt!"
"A lady of the night and her customer?"
"D'Artagnan! Shame!"
"Dear Aramis," said D'Artagnan calmly, "in faith, you insult our landlord! This is a very clean establishment."
Porthos whispered to Athos and Albert, "Five sous says D'Artagnan wins this one."
"I am not betting," smiled Albert, who quite agreed. Athos echoed his sentiments.
The ding of the bell over the doorway alerted all to a trespasser on their squabble. But at the sight of the familiar crimson uniform, D'Artagnan bristled like a cat. "What do you want here, Guard?" he demanded, his hand instinctively touching the hilt of his sword.
The man appeared only eighteen, or perhaps younger. Albert had never seen him among the Cardinal's Guards before, much less one so young, and surmised that he must be new.
The Guard blinked at this display of hostility. "Only a bite to eat, if it's all the same to you, Monsieur." It also did not escape Albert's notice at how unusually polite and soft-spoken he was for a Guard. "You're the King's Musketeers, aren't you?"
"We are, indeed! Care to make something of it, boy?" came the challenging reply that bordered on a sneer.
The Guard took a step back. "Um, no," he stammered with a frown, "I was just-"
Albert gently pushed D'Artagnan's hand from his sword. "D'Artaganan, leave him be," he quietly advised. "He obviously means no mischief."
"A Cardinal's Guard not up to no good? That'll be the day!"
D'Artagnan returned his attention to the clearly-uncomfortable Guard. And once again, Albert's keen sights picked up on something else- the young gentleman had made no move to draw, himself. "Listen here, pup! If you mean to hinder us from our meal, or our honest host from his occupation-"
"For goodness sake, D'Artagnan, stand down!" Albert insisted. "I believe if anyone is being harassed right now, it is this fellow."
"That's right! Let's see how they like it, for once!" The hot-blooded Musketeer would clearly not be reasoned with.
"See here, my friend," urged Albert, "he has done nothing wrong. Why not give him the benefit of the doubt?"
D'Artagnan snorted. "Don't let this baby-faced rascal fool you, Albert! He's either a coward or a treacherous snake. I wouldn't be surprised if he's trying to lure us into a false sense of security, while he's got us besieged with a thousand reinforcements outside!"
The Guard interrupted them. "Look, I don't want any trouble. I can see that I'm not welcome here. I'll be on my way." His voice was coolly affronted.
Once he left, Albert shot his best friend a most unimpressed look. "I must say, D'Artagnan, your behavior reeked of hypocrisy."
"My behavior?" the older man sputtered. "You disappoint me, Albert! I never knew you could be so naïve."
Albert sighed. "I know that when you see red, you really do see red, but maybe you shouldn't be so quick to judge a man by his colours. Just saying."
"Come on, lads!" Porthos intervened. "We're all uptight because we haven't had lunch yet. You're just hangry, dear D'Artagnan."
Aramis blinked. "Hangry? Is that French?"
"I'm not even sure it's English," Athos replied.
"Gad, but it's hot!" D'Artagnan commented. It was Monday, and that meant the Musketeers were on patrol through the neighborhoods of Paris.
"You're right, D'Artagnan," agreed Porthos. "I'm parched!"
As coincidence would have it, they came upon a small makeshift stand managed by a little girl. 'LEMONADE' the painted sign on the front declared in less-than-neat lettering. "Want to buy some lemonade, Messiers?" the child called as the men curiously glanced in her direction. "Only a sou."
The Musketeers practically stampeded over, and assumed a vertical line. "Please and thank you," they chorused.
Albert couldn't help but notice how tattered the girl's yellow dress was. As she stepped back to retrieve some fresh lemons from the basket behind her, he also saw that she was barefoot. "Little miss, is this your house?" he politely inquired, nodding towards the equally-shabby residence behind the stand. He felt his heart break; it was practically a shack.
"Oui, Monsieur," the child chirped with a nod, the pigtails of her golden locks bobbing as she fixed their refreshments. "It's not much, but we do have a very nice garden in the back. We grow our own lemons."
All five of them exchanged heavy looks. "Thank goodness we just got paid," Aramis murmured as they simultaneously dug into their pockets, "and thank goodness D'Artaganan managed to talk Albert out of the landlord refusing to charge us for our meal."
Five glasses were put before the gentlemen; in return, five crowns were placed before the girl. Her eyes became as wide as dinner plates, and they shimmered with the beginnings of tears. "But… but, Messiers," she whispered. Her lower lip trembled.
Albert smiled kindly. "It's quite all right, sweetheart."
"Lads, a toast to this little lady and her family. God bless them," Athos declared.
They happily drank to that. A delighted series of exclamations immediately went up.
"Why, this is better than the finest wine!" Porthos said.
"Indeed! It's the perfect blend of sour and sweet," chimed in D'Artagnan. "Most lemonade I've tasted had either too much sugar or not enough."
"Some credit must go to her family's lemons, too," Aramis added.
"And her family, of course, for raising the best lemons in all of Paris- maybe even France!" Albert drained the remainder of his, savoring every flavorsome drop.
The girl flushed with pleasure. "Oh, I'm so glad you like it! It's my maman's recipe. Papa came from a long line of lemon farmers. But…" Her face fell. "The Cardinal took everything away from us, and we lost our home in the country."
"Oh… oh, dear," Albert whispered sadly.
"Damn the Cardinal," D'Artagnan growled. "As sure as my name is D'Artagnan, if he weren't the Prime Minister, I would-"
"What's all this?" a rough voice demanded.
Porthos' nostrils flared at the sight of the Guards. "Speak of the devil, or at least his minions…"
Ignoring the Musketeers, the Guards frowned at the child's stand. "You got a license to be selling wares?" they asked sternly.
"I don't understand…" the girl stammered.
"What?" Already, smoke was erupting from the brun Musketeer's ears. Any other man would be terrified at the rage swirling behind his eyes.
Albert stepped up. "See here," he told the Guards, "she is only a child!"
"Oh-ho! No license, and a minor! A double offense!" came the haughty reply. "The law is clear. My girl, in the name of the Cardinal, all these lemons are hereby confiscated or it's off to prison with you. Men, tear down that stand!"
"It's only lemonade!" It wasn't any of the Musketeers who spoke this time, to the shock of all, but the younger Guard from earlier. Even D'Artagnan's red-hot complexion abruptly returned to normal.
The head Guard stabbed a pudgy finger in his comrade's chest. "Stay out of this, new boy, if you don't want to end up in the Bastille too."
"Please, I didn't know I was doing anything wrong!" the girl wept. "We don't have much, and I just wanted to help my parents."
Smirking, the head Guard said to the rest, "Gentlemen, they're right. We are being quite unfair to someone so young… arrest the brat's parents instead!"
Immediately, all five Musketeers surrounded the Guards with drawn swords. "You'll not lay one finger upon the child or her honest family!" thundered Aramis.
"That's right!" echoed the youngest Guard, joining the Musketeers.
"What! You traitor! His Eminence will punish you for this!" the Guards cried.
But the boy stood his ground. "I don't care. This is not what I signed up for. I wanted to help guard our Prime Minister and serve the King, not bully and terrorize the innocent people of Paris. Clearly, they are the ones in need of protection!"
"Well, if that's the way you want it, it's your funeral!" Steel flashed, swords touched.
It was all over in five minutes. "Zounds, what a formidable swordsman!" Aramis commented of their new ally, watching the Guards retreat.
"Where did you learn to duel like that, lad?" D'Artagnan asked.
The younger gentleman smiled shyly. "My father began teaching me as early as thirteen. I'm a fast learner, but it certainly helps to have such a good tutor."
"My friend, what is your name?" inquired Albert.
The young man bowed. "Beaumont, sir. Robert Beaumont."
D'Artagnan stepped forward. "Monsieur Beaumont," he earnestly said, proffering his hand, "I owe you an apology."
The Musketeers were thunderstruck. D'Artagnan rarely admitted when he was in the wrong.
"Gladly accepted," Beaumont returned. "I think I now understand why you reacted the way you did." He glanced down at his uniform, and sighed. "Do- do the guards of the Cardinal usually behave like that?"
"I am afraid so," Albert admitted. "It is why there is so much bad blood between us. The Cardinal… well, to be perfectly blunt, he is a vicious, power-hungry tyrant. He loathes the Musketeers, and does everything in his power to discredit and disgrace us in his ultimate goal to gain power over His Majesty."
He looked to the little girl, who was gathering her spilled lemons. "But this is not the proper time or place for this- let us help this poor child clean up first."
The six men waited in the antechamber of de Treville's office.
"You see, my father is a Cardinalist," Beaumont heavily explained. "All my life, he's drilled it into me that His Eminence is a great man and the King's most loyal servant. 'Serve the Cardinal, boy', he would say, 'and you serve king, country, and God.' Father was well aware of the rumors surrounding the Cardinal's treachery, but he always refused to hear a word against him. I think that, having never lived here in Paris, his ignorance must be excused. In faith, if I hadn't had my own eyes opened today, I would not have believed it myself. Even now, I barely can." He chuckled bitterly. "It's… not easy having a lifetime of beliefs pulled right from under you, like a rug."
"Well can I understand that!" D'Artagnan remarked. "My father was a Cardinalist too, and he told me the same thing. When I first joined the Musketeers, I couldn't believe the way they spoke of him! I thought for sure I would be hanged if I associated myself with such traitors, but let's just say I felt a lot better after having met Captain de Treville, who was an old friend of my father's and highly respected by him. And, of course, after meeting the Three Musketeers… although we didn't exactly start off as friends." He exchanged a reminiscent grin with the others. "But that's another story."
"Where are you from, if I may ask, Monsieur D'Artagnan?" Beaumont curiously inquired.
"Gascony," the second-youngest Musketeer replied with unmistakable pride.
Beaumont gave a short bark of delight. "Indeed! Why, same here! I thought I recognized the accent and demeanor of a fellow countryman."
"And I," returned D'Artagnan, grasping the youth's hand and vigorously pumping it, "might have recognized the masterful swordsmanship that only a true Gascon possesses!"
The door to Treville's office opened. "You must be the young man my Musketeers told me about," he said. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Please come in."
Beaumont rose and followed the Captain inside. Treville closed the door behind him, and motioned for his audience to have a seat.
"Now- Monsieur Beaumont, I believe- from what my men told me, you acted most admirably this afternoon. Though the Cardinal's guards are your comrades, you did not hesitate to stand by the Musketeer's side to defend that poor child's interests." Treville chuckled wryly. "I'm sure you know that we are practically natural enemies."
"With all due respect, sir," Beaumont said, "I considered them former comrades the instant I saw their outrageous conduct. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I refused to be a party to it, and what is more, to fail to stop it would have been no different than condoning it. I realize I'll probably go to prison for betraying His Eminence, and frankly, I can live with that." He sighed. "The Musketeers explained all about the Cardinal. Clearly, I joined the wrong side."
Treville observed him closely. "My young friend, you have all the courage, honor, and integrity of a Musketeer. You possess a heart for justice. In betraying the Cardinal, you may have compromised your beliefs- I will be frank; I couldn't help but overhear, as the walls in this place are not as thick as you'd think- but you are not willing to compromise those beliefs which, if I may say so, hold far more weight. I do not think you need worry about being punished, if you'll permit us to help you- and in doing so, we will actually be rendering each-other a great favor."
"I'm afraid I don't follow, sir."
"Then I shall be blunt again," Treville smiled. "How would you like to turn in your red uniform for a blue one?"
Beaumont sputtered, "You mean, join the Musketeers?"
"I absolutely do."
"I… don't know what to say."
Treville nodded. "Well, I do hope you will at least consider it. Of course, there's no pressure- and, if you choose not to, no hard feelings either. The choice is yours alone, and you can take all the time you need to-"
Beaumont jumped to his feet. "My dear Captain de Treville, there is nothing to consider! I accept with all my heart!" His eyes swam with tears of gratitude.
At that moment, the door burst open, revealing the Musketeers. "Long live Beaumont!" they cheered.
"Gentlemen! Have you been eavesdropping?" their Captain lightly scolded.
"Well, sir, you know these walls are dreadfully thin," D'Artagnan said with a knowing chuckle.
Treville smiled a tad sheepishly. "Albert," he said to the petit blond, "I'm leaving him in your hands. Make a good Musketeer of him."
"You can count on it, sir," Albert replied with a salute.
"All right, Beaumont, here is your first lesson," Albert said after he showed the youth to his quarters, which he would be sharing with the Four Musketeers. He handed Beaumont a portrait of a woman with raven-black tresses, a long, slender neck, and a green dress. A diabolical smirk played around ruby lips. "This, my boy, is Milady de Winter- the Cardinal's ruthless spy and henchwoman. She is fiercely loyal to him, which makes her exceedingly dangerous. Whatever you do, never trust her. Many a man has fallen prey to her feminine wiles, and she will say and do anything to trap you. She is also a master of disguise, but you can always recognize her by her notorious trademark, the fleur-de-lis on her right shoulder… which actually resembles a duck. If you're ever near a woman, and you hear a duck but don't see one, be on your guard."
Beaumont studied the picture carefully. "I understand, Monsieur de Parmagnan. But have no fear, I seriously doubt any woman is going to enchant me," he chuckled.
There was something curious to his tone- as though he boasted not, but rather stated an indisputable fact. "Very good, then. See that you do not underestimate her," Albert said. "And please, call me Albert."
"Lad, the fairer sex is naught but trouble," declared Athos. "Avoid the lot of them like the devil, and you shall go even further in life!"
Porthos laughed. "Our Athos, the original woman-hater!"
"Well, women aren't exactly my cup of tea," Beaumont shrugged.
"Very good," Athos murmured. "There may be hope for this generation yet." He lapsed into deep silence.
Albert said, "When Brizzle was with us, I made the mistake of not warning him about Milady. I'm only sorry he found out the hard way."
"Who is Brizzle?" Beaumont questioned.
"A young fellow Gascon," replied D'Artagnan. "Long story, but one with a good lesson in your basic Stranger Danger; it shall keep until supper tonight."
At the mention of food, Porthos' face lit up. "Ah, but supper waits for no man, my dear D'Artagnan!"
Up in the Musketeers' quarters, dinner took on a distinctly celebratory note, with generous helpings of mutton, Albert's spaghetti bolognaise, and wine. "I say, I've never tasted anything like this!" Beaumont exclaimed, swallowing a mouthful of the dish the smallest Musketeer prepared. "Amazing!"
Albert smiled, a tinge of pink rising to his cheeks. "Merci, Beaumont."
"Albert here is the finest cook you'll ever meet!" Porthos declared, causing the smallest Musketeer to blush deeper.
"As if his complexion weren't a dead give-away, he's also the most modest chap you'll ever meet," D'Artagnan added with an affectionate smirk in his friend's direction. "One of his greatest qualities, no doubt… or shortcomings, however you care to look at it."
Beaumont couldn't help but laugh at this.
With a rolling of his eyes, Albert pulled his hat over them. "Er, yes. Thank you, gentlemen," he chuckled with a light edge to his voice.
What a positively endearing little chap, thought Beaumont. There is something about him, something I've never-
"Albert's famous dish is also his trademark ammunition," piped up Athos. "He's a crack shot with a blunderbuss or a musket!"
Beaumont's eyebrows practically defied gravity. "Seriously?"
"Well, yes, I admit that I am quite proud of my bolognaise blunderbuss," said Albert. "It was one of my earlier inventions. What particularly makes it a unique weapon is my own special blend of sleeping powder or hot sauce. I don't intend to boast, but none of our enemies can resist any of my sauces, even though they are well familiar with the effect it has on them."
"What a wonderful idea!" Beaumont exclaimed. "My dear Albert, you are a genius!"
Albert smiled. "Oh no, surely not."
"Nonsense! Why, I wouldn't be surprised if those scoundrels secretly insist on causing so much trouble just for the chance to taste it!"
The Musketeers exchanged looks of surprise, and burst out in good-natured laughter. "I see what you mean! Well, that is definitely an interesting thought," Albert replied.
"But I noticed you said inventions," Beaumont persisted. "Do tell me about what else you've come up with! I'd love to hear all about them!"
D'Artagnan nudged Albert with a grin. "I think you've got yourself a fan."
"Oh- well," Albert said to Beaumont, "if you like, I could show you some of them tomorrow after training if nothing comes up."
"Such as a mission? Even better! I can't wait to see you in action!"
With a laugh that blended exasperation and amusement, Albert quickly said, "Well, I think that's enough about me."
"A culinary and scientific genius, plus modest to a fault!" D'Artagnan pressed, draping an arm around him. "That's our Albert, a triple-threat man! Why the ladies aren't smashing down the door to his workshop on a daily basis, I'll never know."
With a glare, Albert remarked, "You're enjoying this, aren't you, D'Artagnan?"
"You know it." D'Artagnan snatched off his friend's hat and noogied him, prompting a series of protests.
A fellow like him, single? That is strange, Beaumont mused to himself. Very interesting.
"Anyway," Albert said, clearing his throat, "Beaumont, why don't you tell us more about yourself?"
"Yes, have you a lady back home?" questioned Porthos.
Beaumont shook his head. "No." He answered succinctly, in a tone that did not exactly invite further conversation. At least, that was the ever-observant Albert's impression.
"Well, no matter," Aramis encouraged. "There are plenty of fish here in the great sea of Paris."
Shrugging, Beaumont took a long drink of his wine.
How uncomfortable Beaumont seems, Albert thought. Didn't he already say that he doesn't care for women? I wonder if he's had an unpleasant experience like Athos, not that it is any of our business. The others are coming dangerously close to crossing the line of tact. I'd better step in. Removing his sword, he interrupted, "One for all!"
His four seasoned comrades drew their own swords, completing the salute. "And all for one!"
As Beaumont stared curiously, Albert explained, "That, my dear Beaumont, is the sacred motto of the Musketeers."
"Motto?"
"I dunno, what's a motto with you?" D'Artagnan joked, a little tipsy by now.
"It means we look out for one-another and support one-another, in good times and bad, to the very end," said Athos. "We consider ourselves family. We are brothers."
At this, Beaumont positively looked like he was going to cry.
"Aw, get over here!" Porthos cried, scooping the newest member of their squad into a bear-hug. "Come on, bring it in; don't be shy!"
Beaumont, after a moment's hesitation, slowly allowed his own sword to touch the others'. "One for all… and all for one," he repeated, brightening, savoring the words' significance on his tongue.
Albert grinned proudly. "That's it."
The rest of the night passed by in a steady flow of stories, song, and more wine.
"One for all, and all for one," D'Artagnan sang, while Aramis strummed a lute, "what a wonderful phrase."
"One for all, and all for one," Porthos added, "tis no passing craze!"
"It means true friendship," entered Albert, "for the rest of your days."
"It's our loyalty philosophy," all the rest came in.
"One for all, and all for one," Albert sang solo.
Beaumont laughed, never feeling more accepted and happy in his life. "It means true friendship for the rest of your days!"
"Sing it, kid!" cried D'Artagnan.
If anybody were to listen in the courtyard, they would have heard all this, plus the occasional giddy cries of "I say One for all!" and "I say All for one!"
Two months passed, and Beaumont's training period was officially over. He had just come back with his friends on his very first mission with them. Everybody agreed that it had gone splendidly, and that his performance was first-rate.
"Well," Beaumont blushed, catching up to Albert on his own horse, "I had fine instructors." He smiled softly down at the blond, expressing his gratitude for him above all. Albert returned the smile, and the youngest Musketeer suddenly felt a strange explosion of butterflies in his stomach. A surge of heat rushed to his cheeks, spreading to his neck.
"Are you all right, Beaumont?" Porthos asked. "You must have dreadfully fair skin to get sunburnt on a cloudy day as this."
Beaumont replied a little too quickly and cheerfully, "Yes, so they tell me! Now, uh, what are everybody's plans for the rest of the afternoon?"
"Well, after His Majesty rewards us, I intend to give the rest of my medal collection a good polish," D'Artagnan said, "and then sleep like the dead."
"Mmm… sleep," the Three Musketeers chorused.
"What about you, Albert?" Why was Beaumont suddenly stuttering like a fool? He was painfully aware of the high-pitched, almost incoherent note his query ended on, which didn't help his complexion any.
If the others noticed that one, they didn't say anything.
"Oh, I think I'll take my kite out for a spin in the flower field outside the city gates." Albert's kite was a new invention of his, an experiment he originally designed to demonstrate the electric nature of lightning. It had really come in handy during the stormy night before, when Albert had tricked Milady into flying it. What a shock that had been for her! "And you, my friend? How will you be occupying your time?"
Shrugging, Beaumont said, "Oh, I dunno. I guess I'll just hang around here." Great, he's going to either think you're simple or that you're plan rude. Why can't you even look at him?
"Well, why don't you join me? Kite-flying is a wonderfully relaxing activity, and I'll let you have a turn of course. I'll even bring along a picnic lunch."
If Beaumont was any redder, he would have been fit to fry an egg on. He wiped away the quickly-gathering beads of perspiration on his forehead.
"Unless that idea does not appeal to you?" Albert asked, frowning lightly. "It's up to you, of course."
Damn it, why does he have to be so sweet? Around him, why am I reminded of clouds, marshmallows, and pillow down?
"I'd love to!" he sincerely blurted out, feeling practically drunk with giddiness.
"Oh, very good," Albert smiled.
They reached the city gates, and Albert declared to the others that he was heading home to pack for the lunch he and Beaumont would share.
"But- but the King," Beaumont began, looking astonished. Albert merely chuckled, waved, and steered his mule in the direction of de Treville's mansion.
Beaumont stopped, staring after him. "I don't understand…"
The others laughed gently. "One thing you've got to understand about Albert," Aramis told him, "is that he hates medals, honors, or really any sort of attention for a job well done."
"Seriously? Goodness, I knew he was tremendously modest, but to not meet with His Majesty following the completion of a mission he personally entrusted to his Musketeers…"
"We're all used to it by now," D'Artagnan admitted, "even Their Majesties. Actually, while Albert is a great friend of the Queen, the King has never even met him. But he understands too, which is why he doesn't outright command Albert's presence, no matter how much he knows Albert is deserving of a reward." He smiled. "It's actually quite funny how me and Albert are polar opposites that way."
Athos finished, "It's just the way our smallest friend is. He doesn't make a great deal out of it, preferring to simply slip off quietly, and neither do we."
"He's even more remarkable than I thought," Beaumont murmured, shaking his head.
"He is quite the chap, isn't he?" D'Artagnan replied, overhearing Beaumont to his embarrassment. "It's not every man who prefers flowers and cooking."
No, it certainly isn't, thought the younger man. He never even talks about women or combat.
"Actually, Beaumont, my lad," D'Artagnan grinned, "don't think we haven't noticed just how much alike the two of you are."
Beaumont was thunderstruck. Was it that obvious? Could he mean-
"But you needn't be shy around Albert," continued D'Artagnan, "least of all, him! I think it's good you two are getting better acquainted at last. He's wanted this for ages now, in truth, but you always seemed so nervous around him that he was beginning to wonder if you didn't like him. Of course, he never cared to press it; I think he was just hoping you'd open up in time."
"What!" Beaumont nearly fainted off his horse. "Gentlemen, are you quite serious? Is this really how he feels? Did he tell you so?"
D'Artagnan frowned. "Well, not exactly, but we do know our Albert. Didn't you see how his eyes lit up when you agreed to spend some time with him?"
"Oh! My good friends! You've no idea how happy this makes me!" Beaumont cried. He turned and sped off for their Captain's mansion, feeling as though he could fly.
"But what about-"
Beaumont called back, "I already have my reward!" And with that, the other Musketeers were left scratching their heads.
"Isn't this a lovely spot?" Albert asked as he handed him a plate of spaghetti. After a half-hour of sending the kite dancing with the breeze, in which Beaumont found that he was simply content to enjoy Albert's company in mutual peace, their appetites were ready to be sated.
Beaumont beamed, nodding. "So pretty. So, you come here often, do you?"
"Oh, yes."
"Alone?" Beaumont softly asked, a hint of sadness to his voice.
"Mmm-hmm." Albert twirled some spaghetti around his fork, and helped himself to a mouthful. "I hope my latest ammunition is to your liking, Beaumont. I like to experiment with the sauce. For security's sake, I usually prefer to keep my recipe top-secret, but only for a comrade will I make an exception. Can you guess the key ingredient?"
Beaumont chewed thoughtfully, trying to place his finger- or rather, tongue- on the texture and flavor. "Hmm, mushrooms?"
"Bravo! You must have quite the palate."
Beaumont closed his eyes, savoring every bite. "I can't say enough what a fine cook you are, Albert. It is just one of your many fine and unique qualities."
"Golly," Albert chuckled, blushing slightly, "that's very kind."
"Nor does it fail to astound me that this is your main choice of weapon. Not only is it ingenious, but it's very telling of your merciful nature. You are a soldier, yet you clearly are not a violent man. Do you know what a rare combination that is? You rely on your wits, above all."
Albert said, "It's true. I never deliver serious harm to even the worst of our enemies, no matter how much they would see us- me in particular- out of the way for good. I like to think of myself as a man of peace, for there is nothing more precious in the world. Certainly I consider it my duty to stop them from causing mischief, and it does make me angry or frustrated when they seek to dishonor our beloved monarchs or the Musketeers on the Cardinal's orders. But as long as their treachery is prevented, and order is maintained, who needs excessive force?" Grinning slightly, he added, "Oh, but I will admit I am not above humiliating the Cardinal and those under him a little, but again, just enough to make my point. I suppose it is the least they deserve."
"The sad thing is," Beaumont said, "there are those who would probably call that weakness or cowardice. I say it is quite possibly your greatest strength. Albert, you are the kindest, bravest, humblest, truest, cleverest, most honorable man I know, with an unusual love for life and all its simple joys. You go out of your way for others, and expect nothing in return! You are the greatest friend anybody could ever have! I would daresay the Cardinal's guards and Milady don't deserve your sauce, and one might also say that the care and effort you put into it is wasted on those fiends. You probably don't know how great of a person you are! Joining the Musketeers was the best thing that ever happened to me, my dear Albert, partly because it brought me to you! You have taught me so much, and not just about being a Musketeer. You are my mentor, my senior, my adoration! Ah, if only more people were like you, the world would be such a wonderful place!"
He was crying. Why was he crying?
Albert gaped at him. "Oh, why, my friend," he said quietly, "it is very touching to be thought of so highly. But please understand, I am not perfect, not at all. I know the world can be a frightfully sad place with so much war, hate, and grief. It is not always so easy for me to wake up each morning with a smile on my face. Sometimes the horrors of life are enough to make me ask why I bother, and even break down crying. But never for long, because I am always able to remind myself of the one saving grace that is often all we have to hold onto."
"What's that?"
"Hope, my dear Beaumont." Albert removed his hat and looked to the heavens. "I believe that me and my friends do make a difference, however seemingly small in the grand scheme of things. Is it enough? Maybe not, but it is far better than nothing. All we can do is give our all. If we can even inspire others to find the light, then I am more than content. And what is more, I believe- as I believe in God- that someday things really will be different. Not in our time, or even our children's time, but in time…" Albert sighed.
Someday
When we are wiser
When the world's older
When we have learned,
I pray
Someday we may yet live
To live
And let live.
Someday
Life will be fairer
Need will be rarer
And greed will not pay.
Godspeed
This bright millennium
On its way.
Let it come someday
Beaumon found himself joining in:
Someday
Our fight will be won then
We'll stand in the sun then
That bright afternoon.
Til then,
On days when the sun is gone
We'll hang on
And we'll wish upon the moon.
Their voices carried on the breeze.
There are some days, dark and bitter
Seems we haven't a prayer
But a prayer for something better
Is the one thing we all share
Someday
When we are wiser
When the world's older
When we have learned,
I pray
Someday we may yet live
To live
And let live.
Someday
Life will be fairer
Need will be rarer
And greed will not pay.
Godspeed
This bright millennium
On its way.
Let it come someday
Someday… one day…
Someday… one day…
Beaumont, floored by his friend's wisdom, was a little surprised to see that his sky-blue orbs were overflowing. Yet, the petite Musketeer was smiling.
"Albert," Beaumont said, his voice choking with emotion, "I have to tell you something."
Albert noted the desperate resolve in the younger man's tone. "Certainly, Beaumont. You can tell me anything."
Beaumont took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye, the soothing, airy tingles rippling through his brain more distracting than he would have liked. "All my life, I've been… different. All my life, I've kept who I am a secret, even from my own father. I've always felt like a freak, always felt afraid… afraid of what I am, sometimes even viewing it as a curse, and afraid of others finding out. I'm tired of feeling trapped and scared, of being so alone! But meeting you and the other Musketeers changed all that, and I feel happy for the first time in my life. Because I never dreamed I'd find others who would understand, let alone somebody just like me. I've tried to hide from it, repress it for so long, and that's why I've been acting so strange around you. I never quite knew about you for certain, until today. Then the others told me you were just like me, and it all added up for real, and I realized I didn't have to hate myself or run anymore!" he sobbed, little caring that he was babbling.
"My dear Beaumont, please slow down. I must confess, I don't quite follow."
"I love you," Beaumont blurted.
An explosion of silence. Tense, interminable silence, accompanied by what could only be palpable shock across Albert's features.
Toffee-brown remained locked on sky-blue.
And in an instant, both understood all.
Even as Beaumont's face began to crumble, Albert said quietly, "Oh, dear… Beaumont, I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding."
Already, Beaumont was turning away. Tears of shame and sorrow burned, blinding him, forcing him to stumble as he scrambled to his feet. "No, no, no… damn it, merde, merde, merde," he gasped, hurrying to his horse with the intention of getting as far as possible. He heard Albert calling after him, but he ignored him. "Oh, what the hell have I done? What was I thinking? I'm such a fool!"
In baring his soul, he had destroyed everything. He had everything, nearly everything he could have asked for, and he threw it all away in one fell swoop.
"Beaumont, stop! Please," Albert implored, scampering to catch up with him. "Let us talk about this!" He gripped Beaumont's arm.
Beaumont halted, tearing himself away. "No! Just… don't, ok? Just leave me alone, I can't- I can't do this." He shook fervently, still refusing to turn around. "I'm sorry for everything. I should have never joined the Musketeers, never come to Paris in the first place. Most of all, I'm sorry I disgraced not only the name of Musketeers but our friendship, which I obviously didn't cherish enough because I had to force on you my disgusting- get you mixed up in my-" he stuttered, before his words failed him. "Look, just forget I was ever here. I swear you'll never see my face again, I'll never trouble you again."
"Beaumont, no! Stop right there!" Albert said with a sternness Beaumont had never known in him before. "Now, you are going to listen to me first. You don't even have to look at me, just listen… ok?"
Beaumont clenched his fists at his side, and a loud sniffle was heard.
"I am not upset. I am, however, more sorry than I can say; sorry, above all, that you have suffered for so long. I almost wish I could say I truly understand how you feel. Nobody should have to go through such fear and loneliness! I would not wish it on anybody."
Beaumont snapped, "Don't patronize me! I don't want your pity!"
Albert said sadly, "If you really believe I am lying, then you don't know me half as well as you think. As God as my witness, my respect for you has not changed a whit! You are the same person I've known all along, still the same courageous, good-hearted, righteous young man I am proud to call my friend! You have the true soul of a Musketeer, and you are a great asset to our squad. And it is also a fact that our friends feel the same, including the Captain. Those same qualities that so draw you to me, we see shining through you! I've wanted to tell you that for some time now."
"But… it's wrong, isn't it? For me to be this way? I can't rid myself of it; it's like a disease! Ever since I was a child, I knew there was something abnormal about me, and it wasn't until I became much older did it become obvious just what a pariah I am! I've never been in love until I met you; I think I was always terrified at the prospect of falling in love, because it might confirm what I've been unable to face all along. But when I thought that you were the same, it felt so right for the first time!" He released a shuddering breath. "I think I was so desperate to find out that I wasn't alone in the world, I jumped to conclusions."
"Listen to me," Albert said vehemently. "God, in His infinite love and wisdom, made you; and He does not make mistakes. There is nothing wrong with you, no matter what anybody says! Do you understand? Anybody who would judge or discriminate against you are the disgusting ones. I know it is easier said than done, but never listen to the ignorance of others, and always hold your head up high! And what is more, I am glad you confessed all this to me! I'm just so glad you could get this off your chest after so long, even if-" He found himself tearing up again. "I'm so sorry I only added to your pain. I'm sorry I can't be- I mean, I know it's not the same, but I only hope that you can continue to see me as a friend. I don't want to lose our friendship for anything."
But Beaumont said, crying along with him, "My dear Albert, please don't cry. And don't you dare apologize either! You are you, and I am me. I can't just change the way I feel about you, nor do I know if I ever will be able to," he stressed, and Albert nodded in earnest understanding, "but your friendship is something I would not change! I know that you really are somebody I can always trust and talk to. I no longer have any regrets. You- you make me feel safe." He reached out as if to hug him, but stopped at the last minute.
"Hey, come here." It was Albert who made the gesture. "I cannot advise you on whether or not you should tell anybody else; that is your choice only. But you can rest assured that I speak for the others, as well. You are not alone anymore. One for all, and all for one. Always."
"Thank you, Albert. Thank you."
Other than the obvious 'Hakuna Matata' ripoff, the lyrics to 'Someday' are from the end credits to The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and are copyright Disney. A VERY lovely and overlooked Disney song, which always makes me cry because it's my greatest wish too. Btw, am I the only one who thinks Jimmy Hibbert (Albert's English voice-actor) would have such a sweet singing voice for him?
I was scared to post this, I admit. If I displayed ignorance, or proved offensive to the LGBT community in ANY way, please, PLEASE tell me. Tell me how I can make it right. And critique is very strongly encouraged, and I mean it. In truth, I began writing this before the Orlando tragedy, and I even moreso felt the need to continue in honor of the victims.