Beginnings
By: MusketeerAdventure
Summary: Brief accounts of our musketeers at the start of season one and then moving forward; where beginning foundations launch close relationships; new adventures; and unchartered personal journeys.
Chapter Two: Eager to prove his worth d'Artagnan jumps at the chance to take down Vadim. And as Porthos and Aramis encourage our young Gascon, Athos feels the strings of attachment growing and worries that this scheme of Richelieu's could bring the beginning of d'Artagnan's career screeching to a halt.
Chapter Two: The Challenge
Saturday:
Athos stood respectfully at attention across from his Captain and waited for the order to be dismissed. The review of rosters; assignments and musketeer concerns had gone on for a few hours, and he was more than ready to find his friends and be in their good company.
His position as the Captain's second could at times be daunting, secretive or dangerous. However, if he were honest – most of the time the job consisted of tedious paperwork; mediation between musketeers; duty rosters; oversite of recruits, and recommendations for promotion.
The few hours a day he conferred with the Captain gave him a diverse perspective of the man, which lent itself to a profound respect for him, and what it took to run the garrison. To be a stern but fair leader of men, while simultaneously thinking of food stuffs; weaponry; livestock; and pay was commendable.
It was something he had no talent for, and often wondered what Treville saw in him. For he could think of several other good men who would fulfil the role of Lieutenant with esteemed reputation, and exalted quality of character – of which he had none. But still, the man had quite literally saved his life – so whatever he asked of him, he would do gladly.
Today's endeavor however had been tedious; reminded him of past duties regulated to his title of Comte, and served mainly to stir up memories he would rather have lay dormant.
He most definitely needed a drink.
"Before you go Athos, tell me how the recruits are progressing?" The unexpected request caught Athos off guard. His mind instinctively fell to d'Artagnan and felt a twinge of apprehension – like a stitch in his side. Instantly he dismissed the gut reaction of intuition, and forced a relaxed posture from his stance at attention.
It was a fair question for the Captain to ask.
"All but two I believe will make it past this winter", he answered, and wondered vaguely at the hair rising on the back of his neck. He rubbed their subconsciously, as a sense of unease manifested itself as tension at the base of his skull.
"All but two?" Treville queried.
Athos nodded. "Shepheard and Duboise – as of today, lack the physical stamina to keep up with their training let alone protect the King. But we shall see. What they lack in conditioning, they make up for in determination."
Frowning, Treville lowered his head and brought his fingers together as if in prayer. He tapped twin pointer fingers to his lips, deep in thought. "Of those who will make it through the winter, who do you see as our top four?"
Athos' heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face neutral and forced himself to breathe evenly. He had spent years perfecting an air of indifference, and displayed it now. But something in the Captain's query didn't sit well.
With his voice controlled and devoid of emotion he answered, "Renard, Jaquez, Marcus and d'Artagnan."
Captain Treville lifted an eyebrow. "In that order then?"
Athos studied his Captain's face and could glean no hint of what this could be about - the man more of a master at hiding his emotions than he.
"It depends", he spoke carefully, "on what skill you are assessing."
The Captain leaned forward and countered. "Then by the end of the week Lieutenant, I want you to let me know who the top recruit is. Report to me which of the four is the most rounded, reliable, and skilled adequately in all disciplines."
Athos' heart clenched, and he felt the muscle in his jaw jump with an unsteady beat that had his eye joining in. "May I ask for what purpose?" he ventured.
"I may have a special job for our top recruit. Please give me your report by Friday. The King will be interested in who you choose as well – along with our Minister of France."
Before Athos could determine more information, Treville stood; began rooting for some other responsibility on his desk, effectively ending the conversation. "You are dismissed", he added somewhat distracted.
Athos nodded – turned on his heels and left the office. For some moments he stood still outside the door, leaned over the railing and almost immediately – through the throng of controlled chaos which was musketeer life – zeroed in on d'Artagnan.
There he stood by the stables, the center of attention among several fellow recruits and musketeers alike – telling some story it seemed, as he was quite animated – arms gesticulating; smile wide. At one point during the tale, the group laughed with raucous disbelief. Athos quirked a small smile and knew that lately d'Artagnan had taken to repeating Porthos' and Serge's tall tales of adventures to the others.
The boy could not get enough of such stories, and at odd moments he would catch him underfoot in the kitchen or tagging behind Porthos almost begging to hear them.
Athos' brow furrowed in thought. He could not believe how time passed so quickly. Had it only been a few months since d'Artagnan joined their ranks? Had stormed his way into the garrison and embedded himself within all of their lives? Curiously, it seemed as if he had always been here. Over these months he noticed in d'Artagnan a measured progression from all consuming grief, to a sense of belonging, to now an abundance of confidence.
But still – beneath that confidence, he sensed anger. Understandable anger born from the hard truths life sometimes handed good men. If the boy could get out of his own way – he knew there were great things waiting in the future.
Watching him work the crowd, Athos sighed deeply with concern. d'Artagnan was a born leader; a raw but gifted swordsman; an adequate shot and thanks to Porthos a true brawler in a fight.
He looked back to the closed door of his Captain, and wondered what this was all about. d'Artagnan and the other recruits were all at the beginning – early stages of their training. What use could they possibly be outside of these walls to Treville – let alone the King and Minister of France?
Monday:
Of course this would be left for him to deal with. The Captain was in attendance at the Palace on musketeer business. Word was that a prisoner held in the Chatelet had stolen enough gun powder to start a small war and conspired to do just that. So it was up to him to deal with this matter before him.
Only he could not believe it. Just days ago, he had told Treville that these four – who stood now in front of him – were their best and brightest. Now there was this – fighting Red Guards in a tavern, wanton disregard for property, talk of a duel, and unapologetic to boot.
Athos rounded Treville's desk, leaned against the sturdy wood and faced the four young men. He wondered if this was how the Captain felt when addressing he and his comrades after a skirmish of some sort. The irony of it all did not escape him.
He was completely exasperated and finding it difficult to conceal, as each second ticked by. The mirth bubbling beneath the surface of Aramis and Porthos as they looked on in amusement only served to aggravate him more. His two friends, perched on nearby chairs passed knowing glances between themselves – pleased it seemed by his discomfort. Discomfort obvious to them, but unnoticed by the clueless recruits.
It was these two who had hauled the four here back to the garrison – having broken up the impressive altercation that left two Red Guards with broken bones, one threatening a duel and the drinking establishment in shambles.
He put their snickering aside and considered these young men. Bowing his head, he massaged his temples with some force, sighed deeply and studied them more closely with what he hoped was a menacing glare.
All four sported a disarray of clothing, bruised knuckles, and grim expressions. Only d'Artagnan held a posture of stiff anger, with a glint of steel in his eye – while the others shifted from foot to foot in discomfort under his scrutiny.
Not only did he exude pent up indignation, but sported a split lip, and a cut just below his left eye that still bled down his cheek. His hands were balled into white knuckled fists and he looked ready to storm out of the office, and head back to the tavern. Athos took note of his emotional state, and could not fathom what would have him so worked up.
Whatever went on, d'Artagnan continued to hold a grudge.
"So", he inquired, "tell me what happened."
Athos looked to the young recruits and observed how they all turned minutely to d'Artagnan for him to give the account. Unsurprised, Athos waited a beat, and then turned to him also.
d'Artagnan swallowed warily, bit his lip and winced as he aggravated the cut there. He took a steadying breath, stared out at a point over Athos' shoulder and began. "They disrespected the musketeers and tried to push us around, make us get their drinks – clean off their tables." The others nodded in agreement – heads bobbing up and down in perfect synchronization.
Athos nodded also. It was not unusual for other regiments to haze recruits outside of their discipline.
"This is why you were fighting in a public establishment?"
"One Red Guard in particular said things about the musketeers we didn't take kindly to", d'Artagnan reiterated with a distinct edge to his voice, and peered straight into his eyes. Athos flinched slightly and could only guess what was said. "But they struck the first blow, so we obliged them", d'Artagnan finished.
Athos lifted an eyebrow to his hairline. "You obliged them."
"Yes", d'Artagnan acknowledged, turned away; found his point somewhere on the wall; and kept his focus there. "Then one of them drew his sword, threw his glove at me, and challenged me to a duel."
Athos groaned and sat heavily in Treville's chair as Aramis tilted back in his own seat – pushing his hat to sit at the back of his head. He placed his feet atop the desk, and tutted between his teeth.
Porthos spoke up, "I believe that's about when we stepped in and defused the situation."
Athos faced his friend with an air of disbelief for defuse is not what he would call this. "Yeah, when that lot got a good look at us", he continued – pointing between he and Aramis, "his friends all but dragged him out of there. I don't think there will really be a duel."
"So you think", Athos replied with a tinge of incredulous exasperation to his voice. Soon his cool demeanor would be lost – if it wasn't already. Few people could bring him to this state - now it seemed so could d'Artagnan.
Athos returned his attention to the youths. "I am at a loss gentleman, and will of course turn this matter over to the Captain. In the meantime, clean yourselves up; dig down deep into your pockets and pay the innkeeper for his damaged property. You are dismissed." and made a shooing gesture toward the door.
As the four filed out to take their leave – Athos could not control the pull that had him reach out and grab a hold of d'Artagnan's arm. The grip was firm, and stopped him in his tracks. d'Artagnan turned to him – all anger dispelled; only anxiety now etched there across his brow with cheeks flushed red with self-consciousness.
He searched those brown eyes and wanted to say something profound with advice, or encouragement. They had all made mistakes – were still making them. This was his first major one as a recruit, and he would learn from this. It was only the beginning.
But the words would not come. He could only fix his gaze and see the earnestness there – d'Artagnan's need and true desire to be a musketeer. So he gripped his arm with what he hoped was reassurance, tapped his forehead gently with the heel of his hand to emphasize the use of good common sense and released him to the door.
"To the infirmary with you", he finally got out; and Aramis jumped to his feet, pulling the boy out the door; then calling over his shoulder, "I'll see to it." And they were gone.
Athos sat again at the Captain's desk, leaned his elbows there and clasped his hands together in thought. Porthos let the silence permeate the room for several moments and decided it was time to comment and let the truth of what happed at the tavern be known.
"You know he kept his temper pretty much in check until Monroe said something derogatory about your character. Something about….."
Athos put up a hand to stay the words. "There is no need to repeat Monroe's opinion of me. I have heard it directly from him on many an occasion; and on some points agree with him. However, we do hold a mutual disdain for one another."
Porthos nodded in agreement. "Then you know what got him so riled Athos. He thinks the world of you; believes you do no wrong; and gladly fights for your honor."
Athos sat back and pushed hair from his face. "Then he will be sorely disappointed I'm afraid. Fighting for my honor is a waste of time."
Porthos laughed aloud. "Not from where I'm sitting."
A pregnant pause filled the office. Porthos stood and addressed his friend, hat in hand with a serious expression. "You know who he reminds me of yeah?"
When he got no response, but for pressed lips and green eyed fire, he held out his arm and gestured for the door. "Let's go for a drink my friend."
d'Artagnan sat very still on the cot and let Aramis do what he did best – take care of his bumps and bruises. He didn't see why he was the only one being tended to in the chilly impersonal infirmary. But Athos had seemed insistent – so here he was.
Anger still burned beneath the surface – but not so hot now, and he wondered if he should have mentioned what the Red Guard Monroe had said. When the words spilled from the guard's mouth, all control had left him, and something akin to rage took over.
He couldn't explain it. He understood the shared hazing among the many different military disciplines – but this had gone beyond that and taken a personal turn – in the direction of blemishing Athos' good name and honor. Just thinking about it now made his skin prickle and neck flush with heat.
With his father now stolen from him – Athos was by far the most honorable man he knew. No one would speak ill of him in his presence – no one.
His thoughts were brought back to the present as Aramis clucked disparagingly over his red swollen knuckles. The resident medic frowned; swiped water dampened and wine stained cloth over the cut under d'Artagnan's eye – pressing down to stop the bleeding. d'Artagnan hissed dramatically at the sting, rolled his eyes with irritation and attempted to lean away from the burning sensation. Aramis held his chin firmly and laughed at his antics.
After a moment he pulled back the cloth and announced lightly, "I think you will live" and began putting away his supplies.
The quiet in the room felt unnatural to d'Artagnan and he set about filling the space with hidden concern. "Do you think he was very disappointed?" he asked with some trepidation, and rubbed his sore fingers together nervously.
Aramis turned to the youth and offered up an easy smile. He noticed the change in demeanor from bottled up anger to anxious worry and knew then that d'Artagnan had no idea of his effect on Athos and was pretty sure Athos didn't know either.
So he laughed inwardly and sat next to the boy. "Did you not hear all he said? I mean all he said to you?"
d'Artagnan lowered his head, and dabbed carefully at his small injury. He thought back on the events in Treville's office, and looked to Aramis with a sigh. "He didn't really say anything to me."
Aramis placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "In his own way, he tried to explain that we all make mistakes; and this one was a doozy. The fight was unnecessary, let alone expensive and that dueling is a dangerous endeavor that leads to nothing good."
d'Artagnan turned to Aramis and creased his brow. "I don't remember him saying any of that." Aramis laughed good naturedly. "Perhaps not – but that's what he said all the same."
"Well", he thought aloud, "Athos doesn't make mistakes. I'm not like him at all. I must work harder on controlling my temper. He has said as much in the past."
Aramis chuckled and stood from the cot. "Athos not make mistakes? Well my friend, we are in acquaintance with two different men. You, I would guess, see him through a lens of admiration and I through the lens of brotherhood."
d'Artagnan met his gaze with a fierce stare, so he ruffled his hair with fond intent. "One day, you will see the man."
Saturday Next:
Athos stood before Captain Treville and the Minister of France, with hat in hand and blue cloak adorned about his shoulders. Here within the Minister's private offices, he felt somewhat uncomfortable and out of his element.
Everything here was clean, polished, pristine and impeccably organized. He could see his reflection coming at him up from the floor and wondered at the manpower to make it so. Cardinal Richelieu dressed all in black, with his back straight and face still as stone, exuded power and pompous righteousness.
The curt and stringent greeting he received upon entering the room had him on edge.
Athos had always seen Richelieu as a complicated and duplicitous man who he would not trust as far as he could throw him, let alone with his life. But what he lacked in trustworthiness – he made up for in his loyalty to his King and to France.
So he waited respectfully across from both men to here why he was summoned. When Treville lifted his report from the overly organized desk of the Cardinal, his heart sank right down to his belly. It took every ounce of control he could muster to regulate his breathing. Whatever was going on here – d'Artagnan was right in the middle of it.
Treville's voice cut through the thick fog descending over his brain and brought him back to the room. "We have read your report Athos and it seems our top recruit is d'Artagnan. You speak well of his skill and find him - in your words – beyond loyal."
Athos spoke with a deliberate calm. "He is raw, but promising."
Richelieu moved from behind his desk, took center stage and cut to the chase. "The Red Guard has arrested a miscreant by the name of Vadim, who sits now waiting for death by haning in the Chatelet. Intelligence gathered suggests he has stolen large quantities of gun powder – for a reason as of now is unknown. We understand that he has enough of this powder to start a small war or at best incite insurrection."
"And you want the help of the musketeers."
Treville nodded. "If we can send in one man to gather information, perhaps gain the man's confidence, we may yet learn his plans, what others play a part in this plot, and where he has stored the gun powder."
Athos stepped back as if punched in the gut. "You want to send in d'Artagnan." He looked between the two men and intending to impress his opinion spoke with authority. "He is not ready – another should do this. I will go."
Richelieu tilted his head and bore his icy stare into Athos. "We need someone this Vadim will not suspect as a Musketeer or a Red Guard."
Challenge crept into Athos' voice as he pressed forward. "So you would choose an inexperienced farm boy from Lupiac, and use me as your conduit?"
Richelieu moved in close and stood in Athos' personal space, both men holding their ground. "On your sterling report of his character, loyalty and skill – yes. He sounds like just the man we need."
The two stood toe to toe refusing to be the first to break eye contact. For several moments Treville could swear the temperature in the room dropped to freezing. He placed a hand on his Lieutenant's shoulder and pulled him back and away. "d'Artagnan's participation is an acceptable risk. But let us put the decision to d'Artagnan and see how he answers."
Richelieu turned away and moved to sit at his desk. Athos looked to his Captain and relaxed under his steady hand. "He will answer yea, as he is eager to serve his King."
After a brief pause to steady his resolve he continued, "How do you propose to have d'Artagnan imprisoned, and placed in close enough proximity to have access to Vadim?"
Richelieu studied Athos with a slight sneer to his lips. "I understand Monroe has challenged your young Gascon to a duel. If this goes forward, it may be our chance to have him placed side by side with this condemned Vadim. The King has made it law – that dueling is now a hangable offence."
Athos looked to his superiors – his heart heavy with dismay. Things had been decided before he even entered the room. It was out of his hands.
Athos left the palace hours ago, and since then had met up with his friends and reviewed the plan several times, here at the back table of their favorite watering hole.
Now in these early hours, with barmaids sweeping and washing down tables, he sat quietly with them - the noise of tavern gayety all but reduced to drunken murmurs. Not many patrons were left, as soon the sun would rise, and morning would be upon them. Most of Paris would be at rest, and have no knowledge of the great risk d'Artagnan and the musketeers would take on behalf of their sovereign in just a few hours.
Thirst getting the better of them, d'Artagnan moved toward the three with a full tankard of wine in hand and filled each of their empty cups to the brim. He smiled brilliantly and sat across from Athos bursting with energy and pride in his recent accomplishment.
He would duel, get arrested, plant himself in the good graces of Vadim and get the information King Louis needed to stop an insurrection. How hard could it be?
To Athos' dismay, the more he went over details, the more he stressed safety; not to antagonize the prison guards; to be vigilant – keep to himself; address Vadim only – the more d'Artagnan become increasingly energized.
He continued to point out that this was not an adventure. "Your life depends on making quick decisions; and to trust no one", he reiterated for what seemed like the hundredth time. And it didn't help that Aramis and Porthos were excited with him.
d'Artagnan heard everything Athos tried to impart – but he could not help but to smile. How very proud he was to be chosen. He hoped his father looked on him now and saw his good works. That his due diligence, focus and practice had paid off. That staying had been the right decision. That soon he might gain his commission.
"If you don't stop smiling like that, your cheeks will crack", Porthos chortled with humor.
d'Artagnan took a sip of his wine. "Can't I be happy? This is my chance you know, to prove my worth. To show what I can do. I want to show you; Treville; and the King that I can be a true musketeer."
Aramis looked sideways to Athos and could feel the tension radiating from his body. He had not been pleased with the choice of d'Artagnan or the plan.
Athos ground out through clenched teeth, "You don't need to prove anything. This is musketeer business and…"
"I am in training to be a musketeer", he declared. "What better way…."
"To what – get yourself killed?" Athos interrupted with force.
d'Artagnan looked to Aramis and Pothos for support – his eyes almost pleading. Porthos took the bait. "I think he can do this Athos."
"He is resourceful, and you yourself said his work with a sword is much improved", Aramis chimed in.
Athos stood abruptly to his feet and peered across the table down into d'Artagnan's eyes. He only saw there honesty, integrity, the will to have all of his dreams come true – believing this wild scheme would do it for him.
The fear in his belly threatened to erupt from his throat as bile at any moment. If he did not leave soon, he would say or do something he did not mean. But if d'Artagnan lost his life because he was still – said nothing – then what?
d'Artagnan gazed up at his mentor confused. Did not he say that he was dependable, loyal, skilled – so many other things that his chest swelled with pride. Captain Treville had read him the report. Why was Athos acting like this? Why didn't he trust him?
Athos took one final look down at this boy who was fast becoming entrenched in his life and effectively skewing his judgement. He turned away quickly to hide his consternation.
"We meet at the arranged meeting place for your duel at dawn. Do not be late", and left the tavern without looking back, his body stiff with worry. Dawn – he thought to himself. Dawn would be the beginning of what? Would it be the beginning of a successful mission or the beginning of the end of a promising future?
He could feel three sets of eyes boring into his back – but kept moving. He needed to be alone; try and understand what invisible thread connected him with d'Artagnan so strongly.
d'Artagnan grabbed at his neck to massage the tension there, and stood to follow, but found himself firmly placed back in his seat by Porthos' strong hand. "I would leave him be. You'll see him in a few hours."
d'Artagnan frowned and wondered at the overwhelming connection and need he had for the man's liking and watched him exit the tavern. He felt his excitement and chance of proving himself to Athos drain from his body and slip through his fingers. What could he do to have him trust his abilities and be proud of this achievement?
Well soon he would begin that journey. He would gain the man's approval if it was the last thing he did.
Dawn:
Overnight a light snow had fallen and the woods just outside Paris took on a hushed, gloomy gray hue. The sun, obscured by darkened clouds left the scene of bare tree limbs and frozen earth feeling eerily surreal. The clearing they stood in opened to a stiff breeze that pushed the hair from d'Artagnan's face, through his coat; and had him shivering.
The air was crisp with frost which had his friends, who stood close by, swinging their arms, stamping their feet and attempting to blow warmth from their mouths into frigid hands.
d'Artagnan removed his coat, weapons belt and jumped up and down in place to get his blood pumped up enough to warm his skin. Across the path Monroe and his seconds looked his way and smirked with arrogant grins.
d'Artagnan swished his sword in a tight arc and smiled back – ready to wipe the self-satisfied smugness from their faces. Even though this duel was part of the plan – Monore didn't need to know it. He would engage this man, win the duel, and make him take back what he said about Athos – there was no doubt about it.
Athos stood to the side, and watched this young man ready himself for this most dangerous of missions. The Chatelet was a place he would not wish on his worst enemy; and Vadim by all accounts was a hardened criminal who murder he would not put past.
He felt pride at d'Artagan's fearlessness, but wished he had the right words that would dissuade him from continuing down this path – for someone else to go in his stead; but words were not his strength.
His gut screamed at him to grab d'Artagnan by the nape of the neck, and drag him, kicking and screaming if need be, back to the garrison and safety. The crunch of snow beneath his boots, and the giddy encouragement to d'Artagnan from his brothers woke him to the here and now.
With rest eluding him, he had debated with himself all night on what to do. Realization hit him an hour before the appointed time of their meeting that d'Artagnan had come to mean something to him. That he cared what happened to the boy and did not wish him to be harmed.
But on his way here, he had concluded that d'Artagnan had a mind of his own. So he would make one final push for him to see reason; to change his mind – to see that there would be other opportunities that he need not leap at this one.
So when he moved to his side, he voiced softly so the others wouldn't hear, and appealed one last time. "You don't have to do this. This is musketeer business."
d'Artagnan turned to him, and smiled brightly with anticipation. "I can handle this" he pronounced in a clear, confident voice; and pushed the challenge glove in his hand.
Athos let out a weary breath, moved from his side and readied himself to throw down the glove of challenge – to set the wheels of this enterprise into motion. When the glove hit the snow cover ground with a soft thud, d'Artagnan surged forward to begin.
Thanks so much for reading! This chapter got a little wordy – so I hope it's okay. Please leave a review to let me know what you think! Thank you!