Disclaimer, I own nothing of The Three Musketeers.
Hi all. So this movie is a bit of a guilty pleasure for me, I mean come on who doesn't like men with swords and leather? I was playing around with this idea for a while and finally decided to give it a shot. Yes it is a female D'Artangan fic and there are a few floating around already. I just decided to through in my two cents.
Please leave a review but most importantly enjoy.
On the boarder of Gascony, on an overlook high above a small farm, two skilled swordsmen practiced by a dead tree.
A master and his protégé.
With great speed and precision the two parried and blocked in perfect tandem, the younger gaining the upper hand slowly. With a clever flick of the wrist, the master lost his sword to his opponent and with it his victory, or so it looked like.
"Look down," Marius said, his dagger aimed at his protégé's abdomen while his other hand held back her left arm. "Just a trick an old fried taught me. Remember, your opponent will not always be so noble. But well done Charlotte."
The two ceases and panted loudly to regain their breath, all the while the young lady swordsman twirled both swords in her hands, "A dirty trick Father."
"You'll be surprised how many times it saved my life." Her father smiled. "Consider this one your last lesson."
"You still have much to teach me." Charlotte handed his weapon back for him to take back. The old warrior shook his head. "I believe I taught you all I can. The rest is up to you from now on."
Charlotte sighed and lifted her head to the sky. It was a cloudy day with little to no sun to be seen.
"Come. Your mother with have dinner ready by now and this will be our last meal together as a family for a long while."
'Ah yes.' Charlotte internally sighed. Tomorrow was indeed a very important day for her.
There was a pleasant smell of stew filling up the small farm house when Charlotte and her father opened the kitchen door. An older, but still very beautiful woman with light sable hair pinned back was cutting some fresh bread to go with it.
"Smells wonderful my love." Marius said, taking off his sword. "Rabbit I presume?"
"Yes." Sophia turned around, wiping the back of her hand across her brow. "Found it in one of the traps this morning. Charlotte?"
The young woman was halfway to the stairs, "Yes Mama?"
"Please wash up and put something nice on." She indicated to the flimsy shirt and trousers she insisted on wearing when she and Marius sparred.
"Yes Mama." Charlotte nodded and ran up the stairs, one hand griping her sword tightly. She closed the door to her small room quietly and let out a long groan once she was sure she was out of ear shot. He body ached from the drilling her father put her through that afternoon and her skin longed to be cleaned. She stripped down and filled the wash bowel with the water her mother had left out for her. It had cooled and left her chilled as she poured it over her arms. But she wasn't thinking about that, she was busy planning for tomorrow.
Tomorrow she would leave her small home in Gascony for the capital Paris, where she would be expected to find an apprenticeship with an old friend of her mother's who worked as a prominent seamstress. An ambitious idea for any typical young woman, but Charlotte had an even bigger ambition beyond needles and silks.
With herself washed and freezing, Charlotte dressed herself in a plain chemise and baby blue bodice to appease her mother.
She came downstairs still braiding her hair just at her mother placed the last of the bowels out on the table. She glanced up and nodded in approval with Charlotte's attire.
"Now let us feast." Marius said and the small family tucked into the hot stew. "Your mother is insisting you take Buttercup as a mount." Marius said after a few minutes of silence.
"Only because I trust her the most since you refuse to take a cart." Sophia handed Charlotte a piece of bread. "She may not be the grandest, but she is sturdy and will get you to Paris safely."
"Alright Mama." Charlotte gave a half laugh, "She and I will have mighty adventures indeed." She glanced up at her mother. Sophia just looked a little sad, all the while smiling.
"Now do you remember our agreement?"
"Of course. As soon as I get to Paris, find Madam Flori."
"I've included a letter of introduction. I'm sure she will be more than willing to take you on as an apprentice."
"She may not." Charlotte let slip. She quickly added on, "I mean I can sew in a straight line but that's about it Mama."
"Flori would never refuse you Charlotte. She has known you since you since you but a babe in the crib. In her last letter she mentioned that she is given commissions from the Queen's ladies in waiting from time to time, so she is no doubt in need of extra hands." Her mother assured her.
"Lovely." Charlotte mumbled and tore the bread in two.
"And her salon is very close to the Palace, just near Rue du Renard." Sophia said wistfully, "Do you remember our old home? The little yellow flat next to the bakery?"
Charlotte's hand hovered over the bowel for a second, then she shook her head slowly. She remembered a room filled with sunlight and the permanent smell of burnt sugar, but nothing else. She had been very young when Marius took her and her mother away from Paris to this farm.
"Did you manage to say the last of your goodbyes to your friends?" Sophie asked, changing the subject.
"Honestly I think most of them were glad that was leaving."
"Oh I think Hector will miss you."
Marius, who had been busy eating while the two women talked, looked up from is bowel. "Is that Beaumont lad still pinning after you?"
"It's not pinning Papa. He's just stuck in a delusion that we are somehow childhood sweethearts." The two of them shared an amused snort while Sophia just stared at them.
"Hector is a very nice boy, and the only one you haven't scared off. I thought you liked him."
"He is not what I want in a man."
"Then what do you want?"
Charlotte paused and thought about it. "Haven't a clue." She finally said, giving a large grin before shoveling more stew into her mouth.
Sophia rolled her eyes. "Heaven's preserve me for having such a picky daughter."
"If I remember correctly my love, you did not make it so easy for me when we were young." Marius said, placing a hand over her's.
"I only ignored you for the first month." There was something about the way they looked at one other, that unfaltering affection and trust in another person, which made a small part of Charlotte envious. If only a little bit.
"Who knows Charlotte? Maybe you will be swept off your feet by some young dashing lord. Just like how I met your father" Sophia said with the hint of cheek in her voice. Charlotte would have thrown her head back and laughed but she had a mouthful of food. She swallowed it down and shook her head. "I'm running off the Paris to escape unwanted advances, not to find any. Not intentionally." She joked.
That at least had both her parents chuckling.
The evening came and the family made themselves ready for bed. Charlotte insisted on an early night and locked herself away in her room not long after dinner. She lay awake in her bed staring at a candle as she thought about her plan once more.
She was not going to Madam Flori when she got to Paris, far from it.
She would instead go before the Musketeers and beseech to join their ranks like her father before her.
Her eyes flicked to her sword lying across her packed bag.
The Musketeers. Men, as her father had described, whose individual skills combine made a force to be reckoned with. They fought for King and country, for the weak and oppressed. Theirs were the stories she had listen to throughout her years of training that fueled the fire in her heart.
Her parents had just laughed it off when she loudly proclaimed her wish to be one of them at the tender age of twelve, but as the years flew by the more adamant her wish became. She was no longer a child, but a woman at the ripe age of twenty, with sword skills that matched her father's and a feisty attitude.
Charlotte had not been the easiest child to raise as her mother had put it mildly. It was her temper, and landed her in trouble many times with the local village boys and sometimes the girls. How they managed to bare with her would always be a mystery but Charlotte was forever grateful for their consent support. She would miss it, the comfort of their presence, the feeling of home, even her mother's sewing lessons. But she would find a new home in Paris. She would make one for herself, exactly how she wished.
She wanted to fight, to serve her king and carry on her family's name.
The candle light faded as it slowly died. Charlotte rolled onto her back and forced herself to sleep. Patience was not one of her virtues.