More Than Our Captain
By Rowana Silverwind
For the Fete des Mousquetaires contest for June: "Fathers"
Disclaimer: Sadly, I not own any of the characters of the Musketeers. But I do own any mistakes you might find! I haven't had a chance to find a beta reader yet.
Spoilers: There will be spoilers for the entire series in this story, as well as specific spoilers for a few episodes. This first chapter contains spoilers for episode 1.
M.M.M.M
It didn't hit him at first.
The rush of adrenaline and threat of the oncoming dawn hadn't given d'Artagnan the time. They had rushed back to Paris, woken the King, gotten the release, and then straight to the Bastille. They had barely been in time to prevent all their efforts being for naught and the relief was clear between the three men d'Artagnan had only just met. He couldn't help feeling a little proud to have helped them, though chiefly he felt exhausted.
Practically against his will, he found himself sleeping most of that day in the garrison infirmary. He had tried to insist he was fine and go on his way, but Aramis had wisely pointed out that he had no where to go and his traitorous body had agreed.
It didn't even hit him later.
Once awake, he'd been invited out to a nearby tavern to celebrate Athos' freedom, though truthfully it seemed like Porthos and Aramis did most of the celebrating. He didn't recall much of that night, except that he had a feeling he'd drunk a bit more than he should. He had memories of losing at cards to Porthos and of Aramis storming back in shouting about a woman who'd left him. Then there had been more drinking and he'd woken up back at the garrison with the worst hangover he'd had in his life.
That morning he barely had time to think about his aching head as Aramis and Porthos, both far too cheerful considering last night, decided to test his skills with muskets and fists. Then Athos had pointed out that he would need somewhere to stay that wasn't the garrison infirmary since only commission Musketeers could have their own rooms.
He had somehow convinced Constance to put in a good word with her husband for lodging at the Bonacieux household. By then it was already well into the afternoon and he returned to the garrison to find his new friends had left for palace guard duty. With little else to occupy him, d'Artagnan had gone to the stable to check on his horse, since she was welcome to board at the garrison even when he was not.
That was when it hit him.
The smell of hay and straw and horses was so much like home. d'Artagnan could almost forget he was standing in the middle of Paris. He could imagine the fields of Gascony were just outside, getting ready for the spring planting. He ran his hands over Buttercup's back as the mare nickered softly in contentment. He remembered when his father had given her to him on his fifteenth birthday. He had been so proud, even if he had complained about the name. d'Artagnan couldn't think of changing the mare's name now. Not when his father had been the one to name her.
His father. d'Artagnan let out a shuddering shy and leaned his forehead against Buttercup's side. His father was dead. Dead in the mud at an unknown inn outside of Paris. He had barely spared the time to take the body to the nearby village church, trading his father's horse and most of the money he had for a decent burial. A burial for which he hadn't even stayed. He had left his father in that unnamed village, rather than take him home to his beloved Gascony to lie by his wife.
And for what? For revenge? To see the light go out of the murderer's eyes? d'Artagnan felt bile rise in his throat. How many men had he killed these past days? The first had been self defense. He had just reacted and it had been a damn lucky shot. He hadn't even made count of the number of men he'd cut down trying to reach Gaudet. How many of them had been sons or fathers? Had they really deserved death?
Footsteps broke d'Artagnan from his thoughts and he glanced up sharply. Captain Treville came to the entrance of Buttercup's stall to eye him critically. Instantly, d'Artagnan felt himself straighten, trying not to let his expression betray what he had been thinking. He had only spoken with the Captain once, when he had petitioned to become a Musketeer recruit. The interview had been fairly brief, since his efforts to save Athos and the recommendation of Aramis and Porthos had already afforded him a place in the regiment. d'Artagnan still wasn't sure what to make of the Captain, except that the man clearly had the respect of his men in more than just rank.
Treville regarded his newest recruit for a moment, his face unreadable. Then he turned to run a careful hand down Buttercup's neck. "She's a fine horse," he declared. "Sound and well cared for." Buttercup seemed to know she was being complimented and glanced back, hopeful for a treat. Treville produce a small apple from his pocket and obliged her.
d'Artagnan raised an eyebrow at his spoiled horse, before giving a small smile. "She is. Thank you, sir." He wasn't entirely sure what else he could say. He didn't have enough experience to know what Treville wanted or how he was supposed to act. It would certainly be a short career if he were kicked out on the second day for insulting his Captain.
Treville gave Buttercup a gentle pat before turning all his attention on the young Gascon. "How are you finding Paris?" he asked in a companionable tone.
"Fine, sir," d'Artagnan ventured. He was trying his best not to act nervous.
Treville raised an eyebrow at him. "Relax. Contrary to what certain members of this regiment may have told you, I am not in the habit of breaking new recruits."
d'Artagnan felt himself relax slightly with relief.
"At least not in the first week."
It was impossible to tell if the man was joking. d'Artagnan mouth opened a little, but he closed it quickly before he accidentally said something he might regret. He made a note to ask the others more about his new Captain when he got the chance. Being caught off guard like this was unnerving.
Treville's lips curled in the smallest of smiles before becoming serious again. "I am told you acquitted yourself well. As well as any of my Musketeers. Your father would be proud."
d'Artagnan felt himself straighten proudly at the praise. He sensed that Treville did not give out such compliments often. "Thank you, sir." Yet the pride did not quite reach his eyes and he found himself looking away sadly.
Treville frowned noticeably. "Something wrong?"
He didn't want to say anything. Didn't want the Captain to think he was ungrateful or unfit. Yet the weight of the past few days was heavy on his heart and he could not help but give an honest answer. "I'm not so sure my father would share your sentiments," he admitted, so quietly he almost wasn't sure he could be heard.
The older man was still, letting the silence sink between them. Then he placed a firm, comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "Walk with me, d'Artagnan."
It was more a command than a request, though there was a softness to the Captain's tone. d'Artagnan found himself following automatically, lost in his own thoughts. Alexandre d'Artagnan had been a family man and a farmer before anything else. He had allowed his son to learn the sword only because it had been nearly impossible to keep the impetuous boy from practicing. Yet had always been clear that killing was not to be glorified or condoned. It might be a soldier's duty, but Alexandre had not wanted the burden of that life for his son.
Yet here he was. Charles d'Artagnan the soldier, or at least close enough to one. Already his sword was stained with blood. How could his father be proud of him now?
They reached the upstairs office before he had even realized that was where they were going. Treville nodded to a chair and then moved to a cabinet by the desk. d'Artagnan sat hesitantly, unsure what to expect. The office was neat, well used, and practical. Not at all the grand display of wealth and power one might expected from someone who often had the King's ear. Treville set two glasses on the desk, pouring red liquid into each before handing one to the boy. d'Artagnan sniffed it curiously and recognized the strong smell of brandy. He wrinkled his nose, but took a long sip and let the drink settle his nerves.
Treville watched him impassively before taking a sip of his own. "You came to Paris to avenge his death," he said at last. "You achieved that and saved the life of a good man. Are you saying those are not worthy accomplishments?"
d'Artagnan couldn't meet his eyes. He didn't regret what he'd done. Not when Athos was alive because of it. Yet he couldn't deny the pain in his heart. He looked down at his hands that still held the glass in his lap. The Captain must think he was such a child.
"I killed him."
"Gaudet?"
"Yes."
The silence dragged on and d'Artagnan clutched the glass tighter.
"Did you enjoy it?"
d'Artagnan looked up suddenly, meeting the Captain's eyes. Treville's face was calmly serious.
Thoughts raced through the boy's mind. He had wanted to kill Gaudet. To see the murderer's blood stain the ground just as his father's blood had. To have that pleasure wipe away the pain of his loss. He tried to tell himself that Gaudet deserved death. The man had killed in cold blood. He had blamed another for his crimes. He had even tried to attack his opponent from behind, an action without honor.
Yet d'Artagnan's memories could only see the look of surprise and pain on Gaudet's face. Could only feel the body sliding off the end of his sword. He had seen the light fade from the man's eyes and it had almost been too easy. Was life really that fragile?
"No," he said at last with finality in his voice. He didn't care if Treville thought he was weak or a coward. He had to be honest. "No, I did not enjoy it."
Treville set his glass down and met d'Artagnan's eyes squarely. "We are soldiers, d'Artagnan. When duty calls, we must fight in defense of our King, our country, and our brothers. Some of us may even enjoy the thrill of battle. But death should never be dealt lightly. Life is too precious for that."
The boy nodded solemnly, unable to meet the Captain's eyes. Perhaps he wasn't fit to be a soldier after all, much less a Musketeer.
Treville leaned forward and put a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, making the young man look at him. "That is why you will make a fine Musketeer," he said firmly. "And a man any father would be proud of."
d'Artagnan couldn't help feeling a little emotional as he fought to hold back tears. Maybe it was the way Treville spoke, but he could feel the truth in the words. He was right. He could be a soldier and still be his father's son. "Yes, sir," he answered thickly.
Treville smiled then and patted his shoulder fondly. Then he leaned back and drained his glass. "Now finish that and get your sword. You're wasting daylight."
d'Artagnan frowned in confusion, but drained his glass and stood. "Sir?"
Treville was collecting his own sword and raised an eyebrow. "I hope you don't think you can leave off training just because those three are enjoying the King's hospitality. I'm not just the Captain in name, you know."
d'Artagnan couldn't help a grin as he followed Treville down to the yard. He had a feeling he was about to be thoroughly whopped, but he would enjoy every minute of it.
"He gave us a home. He gave us a family." - d'Artagnan, We are the Garrison
M.M.M.M
Author's Note: Thank you again for all the encouragement I got for my first story! It gave me the inspiration to keep writing! This is meant to be a series of four one shots, one for each of the musketeers. Unfortunately, I'm having some writer's block on two of them so I'm not sure if they'll be done before the end of the month. I still wanted to post this one though as I did enjoy writing it. I hope you enjoy and I will try to have another chapter up tomorrow! Reviews, suggestions, and critiques are welcome!
