Thank you for all the love on this story so far, I hope you all enjoy the new chapter- things are beginning to heat up a bit!
D'artagnan awoke to pounding on the front door. Assuming that one of the Musketeers had risen early to tend the horses, he went downstairs to let him in. However, upon opening the door, he immediately wished he hadn't.
An irate man stood on his doorstep. D'artagnan vaguely recognised him, but couldn't put his finger on how.
"I knew it" hissed the man. "Rumours have been spreading all over the village of the soldiers who came looking for the D'artagnan farm last night, I just knew you would have returned from Paris and were hiding from us like the coward you are."
D'artagnan was at a loss. Did he owe this man money, or produce? He racked his brains to at least remember his name. His confusion must have shown on his face as the man's eyes narrowed.
"You don't even remember me, do you… boy?" he spat at D'artagnan, the patronising title hitting the Gascon like a physical blow. "Your father's best friend, and you don't even remember my name."
D'artagnan's eyes widened in recognition. "Olivier?" he gasped, shocked at how different the man looked. It had been several years since D'artagnan had seen him, but the man had aged significantly. That was his identity sorted, but D'artagnan couldn't work out why the man was so angry; they had parted on perfectly amicable terms.
"And the penny drops" sneered Olivier. "How kind of you to grace us all with your presence."
"Would you like to come in?" asked D'artagnan, uncertain of how to respond to the hostility thrown his way.
"Don't you dare invite me in as if that is your house" whispered Olivier, all aggression dropped as his eyes filled with tears. "How can you show up here after all this time and just take it like it is yours?"
"Olivier, I am sorry but I don't understand" D'artagnan said hesitantly. "This was my father's house, so now he is dead it belongs to me. Do I owe you money, or produce? I know I have let things slide since my father's death but I am here to settle them now!"
"It's rather convenient, isn't it" sneered Olivier. "You and your father vanish off to petition the King and he mysteriously dies on the road, leaving you everything and you never return? You stole your inheritance and vanished off to fulfill that idiotic dream of becoming a Musketeer, leaving your land to fall into disrepair and the residents of this village to lose a large part of their income and produce."
"Stole? You cannot believe that I killed my father…" tailed off D'artagnan, horrified at the mere thought.
"I don't know what I believe, boy, but there are all sorts of rumours going around this village. I can tell you for certain that you are not welcome here any more, and I won't be your last caller when word gets out that you are back."
With that, he turned to leave.
"Olivier, wait!" called D'artagnan desperately. "What can I do to retrieve my honour?"
"You Musketeers, you're all about your honour" spat Olivier. "Perhaps rewind the clock about three years and don't go chasing your dreams in Paris."
With that, he spat at D'artagnan's feet and strode out of sight.
THE MUSKETEERS
D'artagnan shakily shut the door. He knew things were bad, but not this bad. The villagers believed he killed his father for his inheritance? The idea was laughable; he inherited more debts than assets, and had worked as hard as he could with the Musketeers to pay many of them off. Clearly the villagers didn't know that, instead viewing him as a comparatively rich boy who ran off to Paris to shirk his duties. When he thought about it, that was exactly what he had done. He may not have killed his father, but he had left his lands unmanaged, and in his absence, they had withered.
Returning to the kitchen, he found the Musketeers having breakfast, clearly having heard part of the conversation.
"What was all that about?" asked Aramis, looking at D'artagnan in concern.
"Just a misunderstanding" D'artagnan replied, doing his best to keep his voice steady.
"Sounded like rather more than that" said Athos dryly.
"Yes, well… nothing I can't handle" lied D'artagnan rather unconvincingly. "Shouldn't you all be heading back to Paris soon?"
The three men exchanged glances. They had spoken about it last night, but the exchange they had overheard that morning solidified their decision.
"About that…" began Aramis "We rather like it here; although slightly dusty, the bed I slept in last night was divine. The captain gave us a rare "take as much time as you need" order, and I could do with a holiday- the women love a tan."
"The women will come to you whether you 'ave a tan or not" grunted Porthos. "But I agree with Aramis, any delay back to Paris is a good thing."
"I second that" agreed Athos quietly. "If you need us D'artagnan, we are here."
Relief washed over D'artagnan. He rather hoped the men would stay, at least for a day or so- he believed the conflict had only just begun, and he would Aramis' silver tongue, Porthos' brawn and Athos' problem solving skills before this was over.
"Thank you, I would appreciate that" he said simply, hoping his words conveyed the sincerity of his emotions.
From the way his brothers looked at him, they did.
THE MUSKETEERS
The three men decided their first task was to collect the horses and house them closer to the farm, as D'artagnan had plenty of empty barns to keep them in. D'artagnan decided to go with them; although rather apprehensive about making his appearance known after what Olivier had told him, he knew he was safest with his brothers and couldn't continue to hide in the farmhouse forever.
The four men headed down the road towards the barn. In the light of day, there were more people milling about than the Musketeers had seen the evening before. If the hostile stares they were receiving from the villagers were anything to go by, removing their pauldrons and armour had done little to help the men blend in.
"Don't mind them" muttered D'artagnan. "The residents of Lupiac have never been fond of newcomers, especially with the company you are choosing to keep- I was never popular around here, and it seems my absence has only exacerbated the issue."
"'Ow come you weren't popular before?" asked Porthos.
D'artagnan smiled wryly. "Spent too long with my head in the clouds, running around pretending to be a Musketeer- think everyone thought I was a bit of an oddball."
Aramis laughed. "I suppose all your talent had to come from somewhere; were you trained in the art of swordsmanship before arriving in Paris, or was all your talent just from teaching yourself?
D'artagnan's smile faded. "A bit of both. My father taught me all he knew and I trained myself from there. Out of everyone in this village, he was the only one who ever believed I could do it. Becoming a Musketeer was always just a dream for me, but it became his goal to help me achieve it. That was part of the reason we came to Paris; mainly to petition the King, but we also planned on visiting the Garrison and speaking to Treville."
"You know, if events had worked out that way, chances are Treville wouldn't have given you the time of day." said Athos. "You have seen for yourself the number of young hopefuls who show up at the gates, lobbying for a chance to become a recruit, and how often do they succeed? Hardly ever. Had you and your father appeared at the gates, you would have been sent on your way without a second glance."
"Perhaps" said D'artagnan.
"Certainly" affirmed Aramis. "Had you not charged into the Garrison and almost got yourself killed that day, there is no way you would be here with us today; everything happens for a reason."
The thought had never occurred to D'artagnan. If his father had not died, he never would have gone looking for Athos and never would have earned his commission with the Musketeers. The thought was strangely comforting; he knew his father would have been proud of how D'artagnan turned the situation to his favour. But now he had abandoned his post- what would his father think of that?
THE MUSKETEERS
D'artagnan had lapsed into silence for the remainder of the walk, and Athos could practically see the cogs turning in his mind. He led the way into the barn but remained silent as the men collected their horses and possessions, which thankfully had not been stolen during the night.
"Why do you think the King granted my commission?" D'artagnan asked suddenly. Athos started; it was the first time in a long time that D'artagnan had started a conversation.
"What sort of a question is that?" laughed Aramis. "You're a fine swordsman and have all the qualities of a Musketeer; the only questionable thing is your marksmanship, and I blame Athos' tutelage for that" he said, winking at Athos.
"Yes, but… any fool can learn to swing a sword. You've made me think, so many men try to enter our ranks and fail. I don't understand how I succeeded on a rather basic skill of sword fighting and a few months of training."
"It's not just the physical skill, D'artagnan, although you are putting yourself down there," said Athos sternly. "Being a promising recruit has more to do with your mental capability than your physical skill. The tenacity and determination needed to succeed is not something that can be taught, and you possess more than enough to succeed. Treville saw it too, from the moment he met you- why do you think he allowed us the time to find you? Why is it so difficult for you to understand that people can see your potential?"
D'artagnan looked confused at the usually quiet swordsman's outburst. Aramis and Porthos exchanged looks and smirked, which did not go unnoticed by Athos, who rolled his eyes.
"We're wasting time, let's get back to the farmhouse" Athos declared, collecting his possessions and leading his horse from the barn.
The other three men followed, only to stop short at the sight that awaited them.