D'Artagnan slept heavily, the conflict in the drenching rain having exhausted him. Until now. His shoulder was upset, throbbing and burning. He tossed and turned in agitation, groaning. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore and got to his feet. He watched Felice in her bed, sound asleep. He quietly, albeit with moaning and grimacing, made his way out into the hall and down the stairs.
He shuffled over to the bucket of water on the table and spooned the ladle to his lips. How he wanted dash some of the cool liquid onto his shoulder! But the doctor had ordered him to keep his wound dry. "I need...something." D'Artagnan groaned wearily.
Felice had ungraciously pointed out earlier that evening, "In the three days that we have been in Paris, you have promoted more bruises and wounds than our entire life in Gascony!"
Bitterly, it was true. His arm was still healing from Meung, and now his shoulder was already sporting a bloody slash from his easily acquired enemies! D'Artagnan gingerly ran his hand over his bandaged shoulder, checking for blood. It was dry, but yet the discomfort was drilling. How was he supposed to get back to sleep, like this? He decided to light a candle from the dying embers in the fireplace of the kitchen, but he stumbled into the table, sharply poking his stomach from the corner of the wood.
"Arrghh!" He chewed his lip, straightening up. He felt along the dark room for a chair and slumped down in it, grunting lowly.
"Master D'Artagnan!" Planchet gasped as he appeared in the kitchen, holding back a broomstick in a defensive stance. "You gave me quite a startle, sir! What are you doing at this hour, in here?"
"Forgive me, Planchet." D'Artagnan hung his head. "I apologize for disturbing you."
"While the masters would argue the point, though they tend to consider me their personal slave, I am a good nightwatchman! When I can stay awake, that is." Planchet remarked. "But, sir, what are you doing up? Can I be of service?"
"Wi. My wound is burdening me something awful, robbing me of a sound sleep." D'Artagnan muttered.
"Oh, good l-!" Planchet exclaimed. "Shall I run for the physician, sir?!"
"No, no!" D'Artagnan quickly protested. "I assure you, it isn't that bad."
"Shall I wake the masters? Perhaps one of them can help."
"Oh, mon deui, no! Just, if you would be kind enough to find me a remedy from the medicine cupboard, to soothe the pain for at least a few hours, I would be most appreciative. Perhaps then I should be able to regain a decent night's sleep." D'Artagnan grimaced.
"Are you sure?"
"Aye, yes. That is all I need, really."
"Certainly, sir! I have just the thing." Planchet bowed and hurried to the storage room. He came back moments later and ground up what looked to be bark with some herbs and sprinkled it into a cup before adding warm water from the kettle on the low fire into it. Then he stirred the drink before handing it to D'Artagnan. "This should set you to rights, sir. It has a bitter, ghastly taste but it should do the trick!" Planchet promised.
D'Artagnan took a whiff of the concoction and drank it greedily. He regretted that. The drink was indeed bitter, leaving his mouth tasting like wet chalk. He just prayed that it did do its job and not make him ill instead. "Must I drink all of it?" He scowled.
"No, sir. The amount you just consumed should set you at least until dawn. But it will ease the throbbing in your shoulder, take my word for that." Planchet smiled.
"Merci. I suppose." D'Artagnan shrugged miserably.
"No, no, no!" Felice cried into her pillow, flinching and wailing. She was dreaming again, about the attack at Meung. She clawed at the air in her sleep, trying to defend herself from her assailants in her nightmare. She let out a shriek as she finally opened her eyes and bolted upright, quivering and sweating. "Another...dr-dream…" She panted shakily, trying to calm her racing heart and echoed in her ears. She hugged her knees to her chest, and wept into them as quietly as possible, hoping this time she wouldn't wake the musketeers. She shivered and curled in on herself. Mother, Father, I miss you both so much right now! She sobbed in thought. I feel so alone! Is it going to be like this every night?
"Charles? Charles!" She whispered loudly, icy panic running through her body when she didn't see him lying safely in his cot. "Charles, where are you?" She gulped. She wanted her parents' safe arms to shield her from the plagues in her sleep. Oddly, she wanted to see...Aramis! She wished he was in here too. Right now, she wanted to hear his calm, musical voice that was always so reassuring. Even though they hardly knew each other, he'd only shown her kindness, and when he was around, she knew at least that she'd be okay, or a little safer. She surely could use some of that godly peace he was so good at displaying right about now!
But most of all, she wanted her brother. Where the heck was he at a time like this? With him absent from the room, she felt even more frightened and homesick.
"Felice?" D'Artagnan approached her quietly. Felice looked up in enormous relief.
"Charles!" She cried again.
"What happened?" D'Artagnan asked softly. Felice hung her head. D'Artagnan sat down beside her. "Another bad dream?" He asked. Felice nodded. "I'm sorry." He said, squeezing her hand.
"Will it ever stop, Charles?" Felice garbled.
"With time." D'Artagnan smiled.
"Where were you?"
"Sorry. My wound was aching, so I went down to take something for it."
Felice eyed his shoulder. "Is it bad?" She asked.
"Not too bad, it's a little better." D'Artagnan said confidently. "Try and go back to sleep, huh?"
"I don't think I can."
"Try. I'll stay with you." D'Artagnan promised. "Just like when we were little, and you'd climb into my bed from the nightmares you would have."
"I always felt safest around you when I was frightened." Felice smiled weakly, still shedding tears and trembling.
"You're safe now." D'Artagnan smiled warmly. "Try to go to sleep, little sister." He didn't directly call her that very often, and usually when he did, it made her irate. But tonight, she welcomed his brotherly teasing, for it was the closest thing she could hold that made her feel less homesick. She looked away as she said it, feeling humiliated and ashamed to admit such a thing at her age,
"I'm afraid, Charles. I'm afraid to dream of it again." She murmured sadly, just like when she was a child.
"Well, if you do, I'll be here. Go to sleep." D'Artagnan said. Felice wiped her eyes and pulled the covers tightly around her shoulders as she tried to settle her quaking body.
Unbeknownst to either of them, Aramis was standing outside the door, peaking inside. He knew it was extremely discourteous to eavesdrop, and if Porthos found out, he would rib him into old age very fast! But he'd heard Felice's shriek, it had shook him from his sleep, and he had headed for the room to see if anything was amiss. But D'Artagnan had beaten him to it, and Planchet had explained to Aramis why the younger lad was not in bed.
Aramis felt terrible for the girl. Every time he believed she was beginning to feel safe, something would always occur to make her draw back in fear: a nightmare of Rochefort, or a run in with his men. Aramis wished he could ease the burden, even a little! But it was obvious that she did not confide in him as steadily as D'Artagnan. And why should she? They were merely acquaintances, but D'Artagnan was her flesh and blood. Feeling that his presence would only cause further discomfort and embarrassment, he did not enter the room to inquire of their well-being, but retreated from the doorway and headed back to his own room.
But not without uttering a heartfelt prayer for the children of Gascony.
D'Artagnan woke first. It was nearly sunrise. His shoulder did hurt, but it had reduced to a dull ache. He looked up towards the bed. Felice was sleeping. After the night they'd had, he didn't have the heart to wake her just yet. The sun was not quite up anyway. It could wait, he would let her rest a bit longer. He rose from his cot and dressed, grunting silently while adjusting his sleeve over his wounded shoulder. He checked his appearance in the mirror, and once he was satisfied, he quietly left the room.
He made his way to the stable. "Morning, old girl." He greeted Buttercup, stroking her mane. The horse nickered and nudge his chest with her head. "Well, seems you slept well. At least one of us did!" He rubbed under her chin. "We will go for a walk later, count on that."
When D'Artagnan entered the kitchen again, Athos was there, drinking as usual. Planchet was cooking some eggs and bacon on the fire. It smelled most welcoming, making D'Artagnan's belly rumble with hunger. "Good morning, gentlemen." He greeted warmly.
"You are up and about early." Athos said.
"As are you." D'Artagnan bowed. "How is your wound?"
"Bearable." Athos shrugged dryly. "And yourself?"
"Tolerable," D'Artagnan nodded. "My thanks again for coming to aid us last evening." He sat down across the room. "While I pride myself on the boast of being able to hold my own, for my sister's sake, I am grateful for the extra hand."
"Were you not taught in Gascony to be keen to your surroundings?" Athos asked, reminding D'Artagnan of a strict headmaster questioning his students.
"My good Athos! What do you think? Of course I was!" D'Artagnan sputtered, taken aback. "In fact, we Gascons having very uncanny senses, I will have you know! But as of yesterday, the rain came down on us, and we wished to reach the hotel of Monsieur de Treville before we became as drowned rats!"
"Indeed." Athos sighed. "You are one of us now, D'Artagnan. Another ally to the king is another enemy to his eminence. It is our duty to watch our for one another."
"Wi." D'Artagnan agreed.
When Felice woke and came down for breakfast, dressed, she shared a short gaze with Aramis. He looked to be, concerned. She had a strong sense that he knew without asking about the more difficult moments of the night before. She only hoped he wouldn't bring up the subject! At least, not here in front of everyone. "Well," he began casually, "let us hope that you should no longer look like an under-filled country scarecrow once you've donned your new suit." He teased D'Artagnan. Felice exhaled with relief. He understood! He wasn't going to embarrass her in the presence of several men.
"I would not count on it." Porthos jested.
"You underestimate me, old man." D'Artagnan threw out his chest. "At least I am not a rotund giant such as yourself." Porthos glared, choking on his morning ale.
"What was that?"
"How are those eggs coming along, Planchet?" D'Artagnan chuckled, changing the subject. Even Athos had to laugh.
The musketeers made their way to the tailor's shop at 9 in the morning. The men look sharp and dashing in their black leather suits, save Porthos who sported a brown one, drawing gushes from the other customers present and the spectators outside. "Good l-!" Porthos exclaimed when D'Artagnan came around the dressing screen in his brand new uniform. "And who is this strapping lad? This cannot possibly be the same underfed, miniature, impudent young pup that strayed into our door, now could it?" Porthos joked.
D'Artagnan rolled his eyes with a grin and admired himself in the full-length mirror. If only the girls back in Gascony, if only Mother and Father could see me now! Constance should be pleased! He indulged himself.
"You truly look like one of us now, D'Artagnan." Aramis congratulated him. "Except for that fringe you call hair."
"Well, we cannot all look as pretty and distinguished as Athos, can we?' D'Artagnan smirked cheekily.
"Thank you." Athos said casually, masking his countenance with indifference.
"I beg to differ. Nothing personal, lads," Porthos bragged, caressing his brown leather suit, "but I think we can all agree that I am the most comely and dignified looking out of all three of you ugly mutton-heads."
Felice felt extremely self conscious as she stepped out of the dressing room in her new gown. It was a dark purple silk with black satin trimming and golden ribbons. There were colorful flower chains along the trimming. There was a long-sleeved black silken jacket with flower embroidery and golden trimming to accompany it. It highly complimented her auburn waves. And a black sword belt could easily fit around her waist band, and the rapier would be well camouflaged inside her ruffled lapels. It looked felt like a ballgown, it was the most beautiful dress she'd ever had. She stared down at her feet.
"Aha. You were saying, Porthos?" Athos sneered. Porthos puffed and folded his hands.
"Well, ahem. I hate to admit it, lads. But, I confess defeat." He said dramatically.
"Not exactly musketeer material, is it?" Felice bit her lip.
"Nonsense, lass. You look beautiful." Athos said. "Fit for the king's presence indeed."
"That is good to know." Felice smiled nervously. "Charles? Is that you?! I hardly recognize you!" She gasped.
"Wi. He finally looks like a decent gentleman now, eh?" Porthos clapped D'Artagnan's shoulder.
"Yes." Felice agreed.
"You all look gorgeous!" The seamstress, Lady Georgina clapped her hands. "The king should be quite pleased!"
"We hope so, yes." Athos nodded, handing her and the tailor their pay.
"Thank you. It's marvelous." Felice told her.
"You're most welcome, dearest!" Lady Georgina gushed.
A crowd of cheers surrounded the musketeers when the exited the tailor's shop and marched toward the palace in all their new finery. "This isn't how most bakers dress, is it?" Felice joked. "I know the women back home wouldn't."
"Well, if I were twenty years younger, I'd marry you myself, the richest lady baker in Paris!" Porthos offered.
"Thank you for the offer, Master Porthos," Felice giggled, "but I am sure you have lots of other ladies who would snap you up in a moment."
"That I do, lass. That I do!"
"Consider the source." Athos snickered.
"Do you think Constance will find me more attractive now?" D'Artagnan asked him.
"I feel you should keep your head directed toward your studies, lad." Athos replied.
"Of course, but you did not answer my question."
"I suggest you ask the lady herself. The truth is always quicker than misleading guessing games, boy." Athos told him. Just get the misery over with.
"If you say so, Athos." D'Artagnan sighed. "Now, I feel like a real musketeer! Do I look the part?" His eyes lit up.
"Wi, lad." Aramis nodded.
"I certainly don't." Felice shrugged. "Suppose it is for the better that I am only a secret musketeer. That is a relief." She felt Aramis gazing down at her and bit her lip shyly.
Aramis smiled widely. "There's no need to feel out of place, love. You look most ravishing." He said kindly.
"Thank you." She whispered, blushing.
"Did you sleep well last night?" Aramis asked in a whisper. Felice's face grew hot.
Good grief! He heard me! "I...partly." She confessed.
"I am sorry to hear that." Aramis said. "Well, I did not wish to intrude, but I said a prayer for you." She slightly peeked up at him.
"Th-thank you. I suppose it helped, I did regain some sleep."
"Good."
King Louis was delighted when the musketeers were presented to him. "Yes, yes!" He approved. "Stupendous! Absolutely perfect! Yes, excellent work, Cardinal."
"Your majesty." The Cardinal bowed stiffly.
"Well, then. Time for refreshments! Oh, D'Artagnan? I wish to speak to you personally."
"I, sire?" D'Artagnan gaped.
"Why, yes. I wish to consult with you about a diplomatic matter."
"At your service, your majesty." D'Artagnan bowed.
"Good then. Excuse me."
D'Artagnan could hardly believe it! The king wanted his advice? What was that about? He could barely contain his curiosity. I must tell Constance right away!
"And so, the pawns are moving along." The Cardinal said slyly under his breath, as he peered out of one of the upper windows, gazing down on the parties down in the royal courtyard.
"The timing is uncanny." Milady consented.
"Once Buckingham arrives, the plan shall be fully set in motion."
"Whatever your eminence says. The only qualm is, how do we lure the little bird away from her circle of watchdogs?" Milady cocked her head.
"Obviously, the queen wishes to discuss future plans with her new baker."
"And D'Artagnan?"
"Our boy is quite smitten with the queen's lady in waiting. I am sure he would be most distressed should she have an, unfortunate incident?"
"Constance! Constance!" D'Artagnan called as he followed the queen and her ladies down the courtyard.
"Pardon, your majesty." Constance excused herself. "This will only take a moment." Queen Anne nodded with a smile. "What are you doing here?"
"His majesty wants a word with me. Imagine that!" D'Artagnan announced.
"Yes. Lovely. Now, excuse-"
"Wait. I was thinking, maybe after I speak with his majesty, that maybe we could talk."
"I can't. I have plans." Constance shook her head.
"What about tomorrow?" D'Artagnan persisted eagerly.
"I have a lot of plans."
"Well, I could just-"
"Look, D'Artagnan, you may have a new set of clothes, and the king's favor. But you still act like a clumsy country boy. Now, excuse me." Constance said, a bit coldly.
"Constance-"
"D'Artagnan," Constance lowered her eyes sadly, "I'm engaged."
Like I said, I am basing most of this fic on the 2011 film with Luke Evans, Logan Lerman, and Matthew Macfadyen. But, other parts will include things from the book, but with different twists. I do not own The Three Musketeers.
What do you think so far? Constance, engaged?!
I still cannot decide if I'm actually gonna put Aramis and Felice together or not. While I know he'd be a wonderful husband, I did think it would be a lot of fun if eventually a young man came to call on her and he would be dangerously scrutinized by her three musketeer 'uncles'! What should I do? Aramis, or a brand new character down the road? What would you guys like more?