Athos swung his lantern around the dark passageway.
"Have you actually been here before Athos?" a young voice said, the sound waves echoing and bouncing off the walls of the corridor.
"Of course, I've been here Thomas," he said with a groan in his voice as he addressed his younger brother "How else would I know about it?"
Thomas shrugged and continued to follow his older brother down the passageway. Athos rounded the next bend and the corridor opened up into a large room. He turned around to see his brother's face as he saw the walls lined with swords, muskets and rows
of armour gleaming on the walls.
Thomas' young face lit up with joy, taking in the features of the room.
"What is this even for Athos?" Thomas asked, still with a look of bewilderment on his face. Athos walked over and took a sword off the wall. He sliced it in the air, bringing it only inches in front of his younger brother's eyes. Suddenly, Thomas stopped
staring at the walls and instead stared into his brother's wild eyes, not daring to even draw a breath as he stared at the point of the thin sword. Athos stared at his brother, not averting his eyes for a second.
"To kill people with," he said keeping his voice still, dead serious. He raised one of his eyebrows at his brother and brought his sword down, turning his back and shining the sword with his shirt.
Thomas let out a breath finally, feeling an odd tension in the air between his brother and him. Athos quickly turned back around, slicing his sword again, coming so close to his face that his hair moved with the motion of the sword.
Athos smirked and gave a small chuckle as his brother winced.
"Never let your guard down Thomas," he said, trying to keep from bursting out into laughter.
"You could've killed me!" Thomas exclaimed, gaining his composure again.
"And yet you aren't dead" Athos smiled at his sibling.
Thomas scowled at his older brother.
"So really, what is this all for?"
"Father set it up as part of a local effort in the event of a war gracing our land," Athos said, looking down the barrel of a musket.
Thomas strolled over and took an armour piece off the walls. He pulled it over his head and squeezed it around his body. He pulled off another section of the body armour and wrapped it around his arm. He looked at his brother with a satisfied look as
he finished putting on the armour.
"How do I look Athos? Fierce? Are you trembling in your boots?"
"Terrified. Please spare me" he said sarcastically.
"Really?" Thomas said, trying to catch a glimpse of himself in the shimmering metal.
"Thomas, you look about as ferocious as Betsy the milk cow" he smirked.
"Well, Athos I'd like to see you try to look fierce in armour three times too big for you. Besides, it's the soldier's skill that determines his worth, not his looks"
"Go on then" Athos replied, throwing a sword at his brother. Thomas clumsily caught it.
"What...Fight you?" Thomas asked a stunned look on his fresh face.
"Come on, prove your worth" Athos provoked, pulling another sword off the wall.
"Yeah because you're such an expert Athos, aren't you? Some sort of Musketeer are you?"
"Just shut up and fight me, Thomas," Athos said.
"Is this what you brought me here for Athos? Are you angry that I beat you in everything? Your little brother, better than you. You want me to humiliate me, prove to yourself that at least you're a better fighter than me."
Athos quickly brought the sword over his head and Thomas barely managed to lift his sword to parry the blow.
"Where do you get these novel ideas from Thomas?" Athos said. His face flushed red, those eyes flashing with anger. He sliced again and his brother again just caught it as it moved towards his abdomen. Thomas quickly poked the stick in his brother's direction.
Athos deflected it with, with little, if any, effort. Thomas tried again, going from the side to Athos' legs. Athos caught the stroke, and with a flick of his wrist twisted the sword out of his younger brother's hands. The sword clanged across the
cobblestone floor. Thomas cried out and held his wrist, rubbing it.
Athos, not wanting to gloat, turned to a nearby cabinet and opened the drawer. Bottles lined the base of it. He pulled one out and removed the seal with his teeth. He spat out the material onto the floor. He heard the sounds of footsteps behind him, going
towards the sword on the ground.
"Leave it," Athos said, taking a gulp from the bottle. He heard the tell-tale clink of metal and turned around to his younger brother.
"LEAVE IT" he screamed, spit flying from his mouth. Thomas quickly dropped the sword and held up his hands in surrender.
"Alright, alright" he conceded. He walked up beside his brother and went to grab a bottle from the drawer. Athos placed his hand on his brothers.
"You're too young to start that Thomas" he muttered angrily.
"I'm fourteen Athos. I think I can handle it"
"It's your funeral; don't bring this on me "Athos replied, taking another sip from the bottle, not wanting to deal with his brother's immature comments. He walked over and started to practice his swordsmanship. He knew it was unlikely to come in handy
in any future situation but it was an art every gentleman had to have at least a moderate grasp on. Gentleman, he scoffed. Comte de la Fère. Marry some rich lady of the district and live here for the rest of his life. It was his destiny,
it would seem. He looked to the family vault at the end of the room. That is where he was destined for. That was decided the day he was born firstborn. Athos, his very title, not his first name but rather a name from his family, to signify that he
was the firstborn; he would carry their name for generations to come.
As he continued to fight away his sorrows, he failed to notice the time going by, the empty liquor bottles rolling across the floor.
"Athos!" he heard his name, pulling him out of his trance. He barely noticed the slur in his brother's words, but now, seeing his red face and his inability to stand properly on two feet, the empty, stained bottles beside him, he realised just how much
his younger brother had drunk. He obviously couldn't hold his liquor as much as Athos had found he could.
"Thomas you foolish young idiot, you could've killed yourself" Athos growled.
"I'll leave that to you, brother" Thomas slurred. He brought his sword up. "Rematch?"
"Thomas, you can barely stand, let alone hold yourself in a duel,"
"Come on Athos, afraid you'll lose" Thomas aggravated.
"I'm afraid I would kill you, Thomas," he said, not looking as a drunken young man, but as his only brother. A flood of pity came over him as he looked at his brother, with his crude manners and his anger. Did I make him who he is?
He put his sword back on the wall and prepared to take his brother back up to their parents. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a silver flash and turned around as the sword come down in slow motion between his eyes. Deep pain coursed through his body.
He raised his hands to his mouth, feeling the warmth of blood trickling like a river down his chin. He looked at his hands, dripping with blood. He could taste it, trickling into his mouth. He spat out a blob, staining the cobblestone like it had
stained his teeth. Thomas staggered back seeing the blood covering Athos' mouth. He tripped on the floor, his head coming down hard on the stones.
"Father!" Athos yelled out at the top his voice. Only a few moments later the rush of footsteps comes down the corridor. The current Comte de la Fère runs into the room and notices his youngest child unconscious on the floor. He quickly rushes to his
side, checking his pulse. The older man notices the bottle, still clenched in his hand. Now he turns to his oldest son.
"What have you done?!"He shouts at his son, hardly noticing the blood dripping from his chin. "How dare you bring him here?!"
"I did not get him drunk" Athos replied. "He did that by his own accord"
He father walked up to him.
"You brought him here, he was your responsibility"
"How could I stop him? He had made his mind up."
His father stared at him, before lifting his hand and striking his hand across his son's cheek, sending blood flying across the room from his mouth, spraying the opposite wall.
"Grow up Athos, start taking responsibility. Thomas is just a boy. He is so young, yet he is twice the man you are, already. I am proud to say he is my son. You, I am not so sure of" His father hissed. "Now help me to carry him upstairs. The maids will
take care of him." He seemed to finally notice the cut on Athos' lip.
"That'll scare you, you know? Remind you every day you look at yourself of your incompetence"
Athos stared ahead as his father walked to Thomas and cradled his head in his arms. Athos walked over and lifted his brother's body, carrying him in his arms. He couldn't bear to look at his brother's face, but couldn't bring himself to hate him.
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Athos chugged another drink. He saw his new friends Aramis and Porthos, watching him, no doubt worrying about him. Let them worry, he thought. He motioned to the barman for another and pulled out coins from his pocket and slammed them on the
table. A young wench staggered into the seat next to him. She held a bottle in her hands.
"Where'd ya get this scar, monsieur," she said, drunkenly stroking the scar on his lip. Athos gently pushed the hand away.
"A battle" he replied gruffly.
"Did you lose?" she asked.
He nodded. The barman came over with a fresh goblet of wine and slid the coins into his old, worn hands.
"Why'd ya do that?" she slurred.
"Incompetence" he replied and downed the next drink. He slid the girl a few small coins on the table and swayed out the door of the tavern, watching the stars over Paris. Can I bring myself to hate him?
I decided to extend this story idea and make it a miniature series. Hopefully it doesn't backfire!
Leave your thoughts, reviews and suggestions!
Have a wonderful day!