Charles de Batz Castlemore d'Artagnan

Father and Legend at Large

By

JeanTre16

Young d'Artagnan stood with his back to the kitchen wall, wearing his shiny new boots his father had just given him. His father brought him the gift and promised to take him for a ride on his new horse. In his excitement, the child had put them on and rushed off to tell his mother the exciting new. But outside the kitchen, he could hear the adults talking in hushed voices so he decided to delay his entry and listen.

The men dressed in the king's colors were talking about his father, just like they had the other day when they thought he wasn't listening. He made it a point to hear every story these men told – their adventures of chivalry and swashbuckling duels fueled the lad's imagination. The Gascon's son had memorized their feats and was eager to hear more. He moved in closer and pricked his ears, making sure he heard every last word of it.

From what he made of their talk, his dad had received a transfer from Musketeer Headquarters to a battlefront somewhere on the Mediterranean. He couldn't pronounce the name of where it was exactly, but he could tell that it was somewhere where fighting would be intense.

His heart sank. This was not a story; this was the prelude to another long absence. They always sent his dad to the fighting, the worst fighting. Or maybe his father always volunteered. He could never tell the difference.

The dark-haired boy slumped back against the wall and scrunched his nose. In either case, he did not like it, and he knew his mother would like it even less when she heard the news.

Just then, he heard his mother's footsteps enter the kitchen from the other doorway. Silence followed. Wondering what was happening, the boy peeked around the corner and saw the worried look on his mother's beautiful features.

"What is it?" his mother said. "Why are you all so quite? What's wrong?"

But from where the boy stood, he could tell that she already knew. He could also tell that her heart was breaking … again.

A feeling he did not like swelled in his chest. He hated it when his mother acted strong in front of his father, only to cry herself to sleep in her empty bedchamber. The walls were thin; he heard her sobs at night. The corners of his mouth turned downward. If she would not tell his father how much she hated his absence, someone should.

No one in the room said a word.

Then, his Uncle Aramis noticed that he had crept into the doorway. The large man gave him a wide grin. "Hello, Son. How's my favorite nephew?"

But the lad would not be so easily pacified by his uncle's warm behavior. He face grew sour. He ignored his uncle and rushed forward to pummel his father's chest with his fists. "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" he yelled over and over, unleashing his anger on the surprised man who would probably kill anyone else for a lesser action.

With tears streaming from his round cheeks, he at last stopped his pounding, and using his shiny new boots, he kicked his father in the shin in one last act of vengeance. His anger quickly melted to an emotion he did not understand, and he ran off to be as far away from his father as his fancy footwear would carry him.

That was the beginning of young d'Artagnan's estranged relationship with his father – Charles de Batz Castlemore d'Artagnan – a legend at large in everyone else's book but his.