Hi guys! I've recently got into The Musketeers on the BBC and I am dismayed by the lack of fanfiction out there! Though, I have to admit what's out there is pretty awesome!
So, this is probably gonna be one of those cliche love stories, but thats just the way I am, and hopefully I can bring something new to the table! I have a soft spot for Aramis, and I just think he deserves a great woman to settle down with.
This is set after Episode 1.08 The Challenge and it is exceptionally unlikely I will allow Aramis to sleep with Queen Anne. Word Count: 3,222
Disclaimer: I unfortunately do not own any of the Musketeers or BBC story lines referenced in this fanfiction. I do however, own my OC and any potential original story lines!
Enjoy!
The sky above Paris on that particular day was an agreeable cornflower blue, troubled only by the wispiest of clouds. Nothing out of the ordinary at this time of year, but still a pleasant day nonetheless. A day it would seem, perfect for training.
Athos sighed as he watched Aramis and Porthos wrestling on the floor from his stance against the wall. Training had been less intense, so to speak, since D'Artagnan had received his commission as a Musketeer, but unfortunately that meant more free time and some particularly restless friends to entertain. More than two weeks since their last mission and left his friends tense and excitable, and Athos loathed to admit their absence from the action was beginning to affect him as well. Though he seemed to be able to control his emotions much better than his brothers in arms and all but blood. Hopefully they wouldn't hurt themselves before a new mission came along; although he seriously doubted it.
Glancing skywards he sent a quick prayer, asking God to give him strength to deal with the inevitable fall out that would shortly follow as Porthos slammed Aramis into the ground, coating the charmer's prized brown locks in mud. Almost instantly the traditional shouting match began as insults started to fly from the men's mouths, both soldiers easily winding each other up as was well practiced. Reluctantly, he pushed himself of the wall to break up the squabbling children in front of him, while D'Artagnan sniggered at his companions from the shadows. Out of the corner of his eye, Athos spied the Captain as he gazed out across the garrison, a deep frown clouding the elder man's eyes.
Captain Treville was troubled. Weeks ago when he'd consented to let his niece stay with him, he hadn't really thought of all the implications. Where she would stay and what she would do with her spare time; not to mention how on earth he was going to control his Musketeers around her. He loved the girl to bits, but she was problematic to look after at the best of times. Now, to top it all off, she was late. He sighed running his hand through his hair. Between her and the terrible foursome below his feet he was never going to reach old age. Deciding to wait until nightfall before taking any rash action, Treville retreating into his office to start on some of that blasted paper work, and hopefully distract himself from his missing niece.
After a long day spent inside the garrison, mostly fooling around, the Musketeers had finally been given their leave as dusk began to settle across Paris. As they walked out into the street, Porthos clapped Aramis on the shoulder, only earning him a growl and a glare, as he smiled down his brother good naturedly.
"Ah, come on Aramis, it'll come out when you wash it! Probably…" he joked, as Aramis tugged distractedly at the clumps of dirt dried into his hair. Despite his best efforts, the mud was caked throughout his usually silky tresses with no hope of removal without the aid of a bath, one he desperately prayed he would have time for tonight.
Aramis continued to grumble quietly to himself as the quartet exited the garrison, intent on spending the next couple of hours in their favourite tavern. Despite the lingering hangovers from last night's excursion, they continued to navigate through the now quiet streets of Paris, intent on drinking themselves into oblivion. Honestly, there really wasn't much else to do while they were off duty.
Further along the road just beyond the Musketeer's view, a young woman dismounted from her black stallion, pulling the hood of her cloak down to release her strawberry blonde curls. She shook her head slightly, tousling her hair before securing her hat into place. She gently untied the cord holding her cloak in place, draping the garment over her horse's saddle, revealing a simple yet elegant dress hidden partially by her long leather coat. Quickly checking both ways, she grabbed hold of her horse's reins and together they exited the alley.
Athos had only just placed his gloved palm against the wooden door of the tavern when he heard the distinctive sound of a sword being drawn. The group hastily turned to inspect the situation, drawing their own swords in case events escalated into a fight. At this time of night it was not uncommon for drunken brawls to break out, but as Musketeers it was in the group's interests to prevent the punch ups from becoming anything serious they would have to deal with later. The scene that lay before them was both surreal and unexpected.
As a woman of her station, one would typically find it alarming to be held at the point of a sword, but Charlotte had been trained especially for these kinds of situations. Her father and more specifically her uncle her taught her how to handle a blade and a pistol, in the hopes that no harm would ever befall her, due to her rather adventurous nature. So when a drunken thug on the street had threaten her after stumbling out of the inn nearby, she knew exactly what to do.
Unsheathing her rapier, Charlotte stepped forward to intercept the man's weapon as he swung his sword towards her neck. She ducked under his next shot, kicked his legs out from underneath him, giving him a small smirk as his head cracked against the floor and his eyes roll back into his head. Standing quickly, she brushed down her long, tan leather coat before putting away her sword and straightening her hat. Spinning on her heel she strode over to Diablo, the black Friesian waiting patiently for his mistress a few feet from where she had been attacked.
At this time, the Musketeers had been watching with mild fascination a little ways off. Upon seeing that the unsuspecting victim of their drunken friend was indeed a woman, all of them had been willing to jump directly between the pair to save the young damsel in distress. However, they had soon discovered that this young lady was in no distress and more than capable of looking after herself. Resigned to watching the show before them the men lowered their weapons as the mysterious woman defeated her opponent, straightened herself and made her way back towards her horse. Just as the man's companions revealed themselves from their hiding places.
"Mademoiselle!" Aramis exclaimed, desperately hoping to gain her attention in time, as he and his brothers raced to her aid, fighting off men along the way. Charlotte heard the Musketeer's cry and whirled around in alarm just as a rough hand wound its way around her neck, pulling her roughly backwards. Rolling her eyes dramatically, she rammed her elbow sharply into his gut giving the desired effect as he doubled over in pain and loosened his grip. Twisting under his arm, she pulled her arm back and hit him square in the nose, sending her assailant flying back the short distance into the nearby wall. Flexing her hand, she swiftly drew her sword and following by the Musketeer's example, engaging the next man waiting in a duel. Together they all fought off their many opponents, ending each fight quickly.
Aramis had just run his sword through one of the last remaining men when he heard it. The sudden feminine cry was laced with surprise and pain, and acting purely on instinct the Musketeer grabbed his pistol and shot the injured woman's attacker in the back of the head. Within seconds he was by her side, inspecting the cut oozing blood across her arm, while his fellow soldiers dispatched of the remaining men.
"Hold still," he commanded, gently prodding her wound as a low hiss escaped her lips. The fresh cut was red and angry, but wouldn't require many stitches when he got her back to the garrison. "It'll be fine," he concluded looking up at her with a grin, "Just a few stitches and you'll be good as new."
By now the rest of the Musketeers had finished clearing up and had made their way over to where Aramis was examining their new young friend. Athos cleared his throat loudly causing the pair to look up startled. He quirked an eyebrow at his brother, before removing his hat and leaning against a barrel, his piercing eyes giving him a warning look.
"Greeting Mademoiselle," he spoke softly. "I am Athos, of the Kings Musketeers, and these are Porthos and D'Artagnan," he continued, gesturing towards his brothers who nodded their heads in turn. "I believe you've already met our resident medic," he smiled, sharing a knowing look with Aramis, the latter staring back with shocked, innocent eyes.
Charlotte smiled shyly at the men around her, finally allowing her eyes to rest upon her saviour. The bearded man grinned back at her widely.
"Aramis of the King's Musketeers, at your service Mademoiselle." He introduced himself with a huge toothy smile, bowing slightly at the waist and raising her hand to place a lingering kiss on her knuckles. She raised a delicate eyebrow at such an intimate greeting, letting out a small giggle due to his infectious smile and the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "May I inquire as to your own name, Milady?"
"It is a pleasure to meet you Monsieur Aramis, my name is Charlotte. I feel I must thank you for so valiantly coming to be rescue." Though she doubted her opponent could have fatally injured her, without his intervention her injury could have been considerably worse.
"Mademoiselle Charlotte, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman," Aramis complimented, drinking in her womanly curves visible even through her long coat, her tantalising full pink lips that just begged to be kissed and her stunningly vibrant blue eyes. "The pleasure is all mine I assure you, and it really was no trouble. All in a day's work," he smiled triumphantly, trapped in her vivid orbs. Another loud throat clearing brought him out of his trance, and the charmer had the good grace to blush slightly at being caught staring so long.
The other men watched in amazement as their friend's cheeks blazed with the colour of his embarrassment, an emotion that usually seemed to evade him. Clearly, thought Athos, Aramis had not missed Charlotte's evident beauty, but the extent of its effect on him surprised the unspoken leader.
"Indeed, I must thank you all for your assistance," Charlotte spoke softly, smiling around at them warmly. "Now, if you'll excuse me I must be on my way." She excused herself hastily yet politely, remembering suddenly of her already dangerously late arrival in Paris and her Uncle's further distress should she take much longer. He always did know how to worry, especially when it came to his only niece.
Panicking slightly now, as she took in the almost black hue of the sky, Charlotte hurried tried to mount Diablo forgetting momentarily about her injured arm. As she attempted to heave herself into the saddle a jolt of pain shot through her arm, causing her to release a small gasp in shock as her arm buckled beneath her. Fortunately, Porthos dashed forward in time to break her fall, holding her safely in his arms whilst Aramis rechecked her wound. With a slight grimace he announced Charlotte would need a few stitches to close the cut and that she would need to return with them to the garrison for treatment. Needless to say, the young woman was less than impressed by this news, but disgruntledly consented after a pointed look from Aramis than told her 'no' was not an acceptable answer.
"Fine," Charlotte huffed out quietly, before struggling out of Porthos' hold and straightening her skirts. Stroking Diablo's nose softly, she clicked her tongue and began to follow the Musketeers back to the garrison.
While the rest of his brothers went on ahead, Aramis waited to walk alongside Charlotte. He rubbed subconsciously at his chest. A slow fire had been ignited inside his heart ever since he'd laid eyes on her, and when they touched a tingling warmth spread throughout his body. It was easy to see how besotted he was with her, though his friends doubted it would amount to anything serious due to his notorious womanizing ways.
"So, what brings you to Paris Mademoiselle?" he inquired, after a couple of minutes of walking in comfortable silence. She looked up startled, having been engrossed in her thoughts, and met his thoughtful brown eyes. She swallowed nervously as her heart thumped loudly.
"I've come to live with my Uncle, if he'll have me," she smiled distractedly, remembering the last time she had seen him. Her Uncle had always been more of a father to her than her own blood parent had been. It had been too long since she'd last seen him, all those years ago when he'd left for the capital. "My parents wish to away from France," she continued to explain, gazing up at the now starry sky. "If I hadn't come here, then they would have forced me to marry," Charlotte sighed sadly, recalling the heated argument she'd had over the matter with her father before her departure.
A deep frown settled over Aramis' face as he took in Charlotte's troubled expression; no woman of such beauty and grace should ever be marred by such an emotion. He felt an uncomfortable twinge pull at his heartstrings at seeing her so sad and immediately felt the need to make smile. He reached forward to grasp her hand, squeezing it gentle in a gesture of reassurance. The warmth echoing from his soft brown eyes had the intended reaction; her body relaxed under his touch as she smiled up at him. She had such a beautiful smile; it sent shivers down his spine.
They continued on towards the garrison making idle conversation, only parting hands when they reached the closed gate. Once inside, Aramis quickly led her over to the groups' regular table, before racing up the stairs to gather his limited medical equipment to tend to her injury whilst the stable hand sorted out her mount. His friends smirked at him behind his back, his new found romantic interest evident to everyone but the object of his crush.
Upon his return the group had engaged in amiable conversation, proving to be a welcome distraction for his patient as he began to stitch her wound. Once completed he assessed his precise work before wrapping the bandage around her arm tightly, as she thanked him kindly.
"Aramis was a seamstress in another life," Porthos quipped, raising his glass in the soldier's direction as means of praise, earning a few giggles to escape from between Charlotte's lips and a small glare from the man in question as he worked.
"Finest stitching in Paris," added D'Artagnan, egged on by his friends evident distress.
"Yes well," Aramis sighed. "I've had a lot of practice, haven't I?" He gave a pointed look at everyone around the table before tying off Charlotte's bandage and inspecting the knot. "There, that should do it!"
Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the gate of the garrison banged against the wall loudly as a weary Captain Treville stepped through. Ever since the sun had begun to set his anxiety for his niece's safety had only increase, and as dusk started to fall he had decided to try and find her himself. His search through the many streets and alleys of Paris had been fruitless, and he had returned to the garrison in a considerably worse mood than when he left.
Imagine his surprise when he looked up to find her not only right in front of him, but in the company of some of his most trusted Musketeers. The relief on his face was palpable.
"Charlotte!" he called causing not only her, but also the Musketeers sat beside her, to spin around in surprise.
"Uncle!" she exclaimed, leaping up from her seat and into his outstretched arms. Her companions looked on with bemused expressions; Aramis gulped loudly much to the amusement of the others.
"Oh Charlotte, you worried me dear child," Treville chided, hugging her to him tightly. After a few seconds he pulled back and placing his hands on her shoulder took in the sight of his niece. His memories of her consisted of a young child, and yet here before him stood a beautiful woman, all grown up. He doubted he would have recognised her had it not been for strawberry blonde hair she was so easily distinguished by. It almost brought a tear to his eye to see her as a young woman, but at least her familiar sapphire orbs that he held so vividly in his mind still sparkled with life.
He sighed running his rough hands down her arms, when her sudden hiss brought him out of his thoughts. Gently he ran his fingers back over the wounded skin, trace between the four neat stitches. He looked up quickly into Charlotte's blue orbs, before shifting his now narrowed gaze onto the Musketeers over her shoulder. If they had been anyway involved in injuring his niece, there would be hell to pay.
Sensing her Uncle's growing fury and wishing to spare her new friends from his sometimes vicious temper, a trait she had no trouble remembering from her childhood; she gently looped her arm through his and tugged him towards the exit, all the while claiming how tired she was from her long journey in order to distract him. Just as they stepped through the gate, she turned slightly and threw a wink over her shoulder at her newly acquired companions.
Charlotte's wink sent a chorus of chuckles around the table as she led away their oblivious Captain. At the same time a slight blush spread across Aramis' face, before quickly ducking his head below the brim of his hat. Not fast enough though apparently. Porthos and D'Artagnan shared a look, a mischievous glint in both their eyes. If their resident charmer thought he'd escaped the worst of the teasing, he was sorely mistaken. Athos cracked a small smile as his friends laughed at Aramis' expense, the latter growling softly as he removed his hat and tried to run his hands through his still muddy hair.
"No." Athos' voice instantly commanded appreciation, wielding distinct authority. His tone left little room for argument, and Aramis squirmed slightly under his intense gaze.
"But I didn't say anything!" he exclaimed exasperated.
"You didn't have to say anything mate," Porthos chuckled. "It's written all over your face."
"You definitely have that look in your eye…" D'Artagnan commented, as he copied Porthos and leaned across the table, getting a closer look at their friend. Aramis stared back at them with bewildered, wide eyes, shocked that they would jump to such conclusions so easily. Surely he wasn't that bad.
"She is Captain Treville's niece, you cannot mess around with her," Athos warned, seeing the thoughtful look on his friends face.
"And what if I have strictly honourable intentions?" Aramis retorted, eyeing up his friends seated around him. They scoffed lightly at his response, before hastily surrendering when they received a sharp glare.
"Just be careful," Athos ordered softly.
Thanks guys! Hope you enjoyed that! I plan to update soon, college permitting!
Please read and review!
Jess