Ahh, yes. Buckingham. We must not forget him, must we? He'll show up eventually. Things are going to go a bit more awry with him than even in the movie, with no small thanks to Milady! But I can't give the details on that! You'll just have to wait and read it.
Orlando Bloom as Buckingham didn't strike me as a villain, really. He kept making me laugh with his portrayal of an aristocrat. Sorry, I just couldn't help it!
I know James Corden played Planchet in the movie version I'm basing this off of, but I'm trying to give him some more character depth like in the book.
"Well, I suggest we all get a good night's rest, so we look our best in the king's presence tomorrow." Porthos sighed. "We could all use some beauty sleep, especially you, Athos!"
"In my opinion, most of us don't have much beauty to sleep on." Athos narrowed his eyes.
"Well, I think I shall bid Buttercup a goodnight." Felice said, standing up. "Charles, are you coming?"
"In a little while." D'Artagnan said.
"Alright. I'll tell her that you shall stop by later." Felice nodded and walked out the back door leading to the stable.
"What is it with you two and that beast?" Porthos asked, cocking his head.
"Careful, Porthos." D'Artagnan frowned. "Buttercup is no beast. She is a hearty steed, and has been in our family for two generations. I do not appreciate people calling her names."
"Gascons…" Porthos shook his head.
"You are lucky Buttercup did not hear you, or I would be inclined to shame you for the sake of her honor." D'Artagnan said slowly.
"Caution, young D'Artagnan. Or have you forgotten the consequences that followed the last time you endeavored such a dare?" Athos prodded.
"Here, mon ami." Felice smiled, holding her palm out with sugar cubes for her horse. "I know it is not good for you often, but I think you deserve a small atonement for all the disgrace you've been put through today." Buttercup eagerly lapped up the treat and she grunted happily.
"What is that one's name again, Miss?" Planchet asked, filling Athos's horse's trough with fresh hay.
"Buttercup." Felice smiled. "She is our family horse. Such a gentle soul. Which one is yours?"
"This one." Planchet pointed out to the large, bay gelding in the stall farthest from the doors. "He is General."
"He has a robust physique and a well tended coat. I see why you would call him that. If you don't mind me asking, are you the only manservant to the musketeers here?" Felice asked as she continued to caress Buttercup.
"I am now." Planchet sighed. "For a while, each of the masters had their own personal servants, and then me. But I hear tell that with the Cardinal influencing the king, and his bloody guards always stirring up trouble with the musketeers and putting the public blame on them, budgets were cut."
"Master Athos, Porthos, and Aramis told you this?"
"Nay, Miss. They do not discuss their military affairs with me." Planchet sighed dejectedly. "Unless I involuntarily become involved-say caught in the cross-hairs as it were. But I hear things! Indeed, I do, when they believe me to be sleeping, or absorbed in the mundane tasks they thrust on me."
"You mean that Captain de Treville withdrew their faithful servants, just because they fell on some financial bad luck? He does not appear to be the kind of man who would do that." Felice interjected.
"Well," Planchet fidgeted nervously, twiddling his fingers. "It was a bit more than that. The masters would be vexed with me if they knew I was sharing this with you."
"What? What could be so wrong that you'd be in trouble for talking to me?" Felice asked with trepidation, feeling that her worst fears about the men were about to come true: that they were not as honorable off duty as they claimed to be on, that they played by their own rules, and had caused others grief for it.
"It isn't that it would be wrong, Miss, just that they would rather it not be repeated. You see, a couple years ago, Master Porthos's servant Mousqueton was killed. It was a quarrel gone wrong, thanks to those infernal black and red coats!" Planchet seethed.
"What happened?"
"You see, Monsieur Mousqueton, like Master Porthos, enjoyed the finer things of life with all glee. Master Athos taught his man Grimaud hand-signals, a military strategy for communication that could confuse the enemy and be understood only by the men in Master Athos's company. Monsieur Mousqueton enjoyed extravagance and pleasures, and did not care to learn the signs. Neither did Monsieur Bazin, Master Aramis's servant. All he ever wanted was to join the church, like his master. He believed the gesture of communication to be a waste of time.
'Grimaud tried to teach his fellows, for safety precautions but neither of them gave the diligence to study them. One day, the Cardinal's guards started a quarrel with Monsieur Porthos and regarded him as blundered, claiming it was his fault. They accused him of stealing their rations. Mousqueton was outraged and spoke his mind. Grimaud signaled to him and Bazin, warning them, but neither of the men understood what he was trying to tell them: to leave the fight to the musketeer masters and flee. He kept waving urgently, but his friends ignored him. One of the guards shot Mousqueton dead on the spot. Master Porthos retaliated with a vengeance, he did!
After that day, Grimaud, wrought with guilt, insisted to be let go of Athos's service, claiming he was not worthy to serve. He blamed himself for his cohort's death. Master Athos told him over and over he shouldn't feel guilty, but a man's conscience is inescapably overpowering, if you know what I mean. And with that on their shoulders, Bazin wanted nothing more to do with affairs that included taking up arms against the government, and begged Master Aramis to return to the service of the church with him. But Master Aramis declared that his purpose as a musketeer wasn't fulfilled, and that he must remain. And so, I am all they have left.'"
"It was the guards' fault, not any of theirs!" Felice growled.
"Quite so, miss. But they all felt just dreadful for it. So, I put up with their threats and ill treatment of me. I do not believe they mean to truly be unkind. My father treated me the same way, but I do know he cared for me."
Felice puffed. "You have a high tolerance for bullying, Monsieur Planchet."
"How did you end up with them, Planchet?" D'Artagnan asked as he appeared.
"Me? Well, I needed a job. I can do most anything required of me, but I think what sealed the deal for the masters is that I am not a poor cook." Planchet boasted. "And I was willing to work for lower wages than most." He suddenly looked around nervously. "Please, do not ever let on that I told you what happened to their servants! They will surely lynch me this time!"
"Not a word." D'Artagnan promised. "Well, old girl, are the accommodations sufficient?" He reached out to pet Buttercup.
"I haven't heard any complaints." Felice smiled. "I do believe she has made some new acquaintances."
"Splendid. I am relieved to hear that!" D'Artagnan exclaimed. "I would be frosted if she was excluded due to petty narrow-mindedness."
"I think they have received her as one of their own, sir." Planchet added.
"Well, I hope you have fairer dreams than the muck of a day you've had." D'Artagnan whispered to Buttercup.
"We won't be far." Felice told her. "It's good to have you with us, girl. Doesn't feel as far away from home."
D'Artagnan, Felice, and Planchet retired to their rooms for the night. Felice tried to hold back tears as she brushed out her long auburn hair in front of the small mirror. Even a few nights ago, their last night at home, her mother had brushed her hair, same as always. But she was a big girl now, and on her own...well, partially.
"What do you suppose Mother and Father are doing right about now?" Felice asked D'Artagnan wistfully.
"Well, let's see." D'Artagnan cocked his head as he arranged his cot on the floor. "Father has just come in from doing the nightly chores. Mother is sitting by the fire, with tea and biscuits. She is most likely knitting scarves for us, to send here before winter. And hoping that we are still in one piece."
"She has uncanny instincts."
"Aye. Well, I am bushed." D'Artagnan yawned. He slipped under his covers and groaned.
"Are you alright?" Felice asked.
"I'm good. Still sore. You should've seen the look on Aramis's face when he saw the kick marks from Rochefort! It reminded me of Mother when I have had a...problem. Only he was much calmer! Are you nearly finished?"
"Yes." Felice said quietly. She blew out the lamp light, and climbed into the bed. "Are you sure you can sleep down there, with all your injuries?"
"Sure. I have two layers of blankets to cushion my spine. Anyway," he yawned again, "I'm so tuckered out, I'll hardly notice if I'm uncomfortable or not."
"Well, goodnight." Felice nodded, shifting under the covers herself.
"Felice?"
"Hmm?"
"I couldn't help noticing, you seem to be at complete ease when you are around Planchet. I mean, enormously different than when we are around the others. Why is that?" D'Artagnan asked tiredly.
"I...do not know." Felice murmured sadly. "Perhaps it is because he is not what you would ordinarily call, soldier material. Perhaps I just relate to him better. His occupation is something I am familiar with, unlike the musketeer's life that you are to undertake. Maybe...it is because...he is not a swordsman. He is ordinary. Something I...do not need to be on guard over."
"Oh." D'Artagnan grunted. "Well, goodnight, Felice."
"Goodnight." Felice sighed. She gently ran her fingers over her necklace. Now that her brother wasn't looking, she let the small tears fall. Goodnight, Mother. Goodnight, Father. Well, we made it to Paris! Albeit, through blood and sweat. I pray we make you both proud!
"Charles!" Felice screeched. Down he fell, blood gushing from his arm, his face twisted in pain. She darted for him.
"Oh, I don't think so." Rochefort smirked, clenching her by the arm and tossing her to the ground behind him. The guards were upon her! "Have some fun, boys." Rochefort chuckled. "Oh, but, uh, save some for me."
Felice wriggled like a fish panting for precious water. But Rochefort's men did not loosen their grips, and they flipped her onto her back. She was pinned to the dirty ground, thrashing and screaming, utterly unable to help herself. The horrid men were jeering down at her, keeping her limbs firmly in place, and ravenously clawing at her clothes, ripping them open, each one eager to be the first to touch her skin. Felice struggled with all her might, which was waning. "Charles! CHARLES, HELP ME!" She screamed, her voice strangled with the tendrils of terror.
Then an animalistic cry pierced the air and her heart just about stopped. Charles! He was dead, she knew it. Her blood went cold. Her tormentors laughed even more and she fought harder than ever. Until a giant shadow hovered over them. A sickening shadow, with a broad hat, an evil sweeping black cape like a bat, and an eye patch on his hard face. "Out of the way." He told his lackeys, kicking them to the side.
Felice saw her chance and scrambled to her feet. But she wasn't fast enough. Two strong arms gripped her around the waist and neck. She kicked out and squirmed but the mongrel's arms were like iron. "Nice try, my dear." Rochefort whispered in an oily voice. "Did you really think you could escape me? One thing you should know about me: I am a man of my word." Felice felt as if poison itself had taken human form. "And now," he whipped her around, forcing her to face him, "you shall pay for your brother's indiscretion against me"…
Felice yelped shrilly, her eyes darting back and forth as they flew open. She was shivering in a cold sweat and salty tears rolled down her face.This isn't my bed!She thought frantically. Where am I?! Did he...oh, Lord, tell me this isn't Rochefort's bed! "M-Mother?" She squeaked.
"Felice?" D'Artagnan touched her arm. She jumped back until she realized it was only her brother.
"Charles?" She panted. "Ohh, Charles! This isn't our house! Where are we?"
"We're in the humble abode of the three musketeers, remember?" D'Artagnan told her. Felice drew in a sharp breath. They were far, far away from home. Far away from their small, cozy cottage, their beds they'd slept in since childhood, far away from their father's calming words, and worst of all, far away from their mother's soothing hugs and tender voice. "Hey, hey, it's alright. I'm right here." D'Artagnan told her. "You were dreaming, Felice."
Felice rubbed her face. "I'm s-sorry I woke you up."
"Don't apologize. What were you dreaming about?" D'Artagnan asked. Felice shuddered, drawing her knees to her chest, shaking. D'Artagnan stood up and fetched his cloak then draped it around her shoulders. "You can tell me." He squeezed her hand.
"It...it was...we were back in Meung, and…" Felice chewed her lip painfully, too ashamed to explain the horrible details.
"Ohh." D'Artagnan sighed. He kissed her head. "I'm here. We're still together, okay? I...I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from those low lives."
"I...I thought it was happening all over again!" There was a light knock at the door and Porthos poked his round head in, gripping his sword.
"Anything wrong? I heard someone cry out." He addressed them.
"We're alright. It was a bad dream." D'Artagnan looked back and told him.
"Ugh. Gruesome business, bad dreams." Porthos shook his head sympathetically, putting his sword down. "How about some warm milk? I'll have Planchet make some for you."
"Thank you, no. Let the poor man sleep!" Felice replied sadly.
"What is going on?" Aramis asked, appearing in the doorway. Felice cringed, hugging herself tighter. She was incredibly embarrassed at all the unwanted attention she was causing. She just wanted to be alone with her brother. "D'Artagnan, is everything alright?" The priest entered the room in his long nightshirt.
"She had a nightmare, my good Aramis." D'Artagnan explained.
"I am sorry." Aramis said softly. He noticed the sweat on her body and how terribly she trembled. He felt her forehead, checking for fever. "You sure you are not ill?"
"I'm not. It was...just...a dream." Felice said in a tremulous voice.
"Do you think you will be able to go back to sleep?"
"I'll try." Felice nodded, wiping her tears, and hiding her face in her knees. "I just would like to be alone with Charles, please!"
"Of course." Aramis nodded, walking back to the door. "If you both need anything, just holler."
"Thank you, Aramis." D'Artagnan smiled gratefully as the priest shut the door. "You miss home, don't you?" He told Felice.
"I knew when we set out, that life would be different, that this wouldn't be Gascony." Felice said in agitation.
"Hey, I miss them too." D'Artagnan said quietly. Felice burst into sobbing. "Aw, come here." D'Artagnan held her closely. "I know we had a rough start, but things will get better. I promise."
Felice clung to him, trying to stop crying. She felt ridiculous, being so homesick their first night in Paris. Their two nights out in the country on the way here, sleeping under the stars hadn't been like this! Those had been peaceful nights around a campfire, where they joked about awkward moments from their childhood, and boasted about all their exciting plans for the future. Now that felt like years ago.
Rochefort's vulgar intentions hadn't helped by any means! They'd barely reached Paris and already were in hot water. How could they be happy here? How could she even contemplate trying to lead a prosperous, useful life in this city knowing that that scoundrel and his band were running around loose, and with the Cardinal's stamp of approval on their uniforms?
"Things won't appear so dark in the morning light." That was what their mother said when they'd had bad dreams. What Felice would give to hear those words from her lips again right now, and to feel her mother's arms caressing her hair, shushing her tenderly! But Madame D'Artagnan was not here. And both of them had known that wouldn't be the case when she and Charles had ventured for the city. Felice began to realize what they'd chosen to give up, in order to spread their wings and it made her chest ache harder.
In the morning, I'll do better, she told herself. No more crying after tonight. Father taught us to be strong. I'll be strong. How I wish I could run home and stay there, safe and loved! But I cannot. Charles and I have made our choices, and Gascons stick to their word, no matter what! She still felt sick to her stomach, remembering the details of her dream. But I am not alone. Charles is with me. We're still together. And we're going to stay that way for many years!
She thought on the three heroes who had taken them under their wing. They'd had their moments of jokes and bantering, but Felice couldn't shake a lingering fear of them, deep in the back of her mind. Porthos was the jokester, and friendly enough but he was also loud and temperamental, and notoriously petty about the finer things in life. Then there was Athos. The elder musketeer had a gallant side to him, no doubt. He was dutiful to a fault, and brutally frank about whatever business was at hand. But his quiet melancholy was unnerving, and more than once he had acted as if he would rather toss Felice and D'Artagnan out on the street. How long would his patience hold, Felice wondered?
Her thoughts went to the dashing priest. Out of all three men, Aramis was the one she truly felt she'd ever be able to possibly trust, as fragile as that confidence was at the moment. So far, he had looked out for her, and acted above all as a true gentleman. He was not as boisterous as Porthos and nowhere as prickly as Athos. True that everyone had their faults, but she didn't believe Aramis would hold it against her for being homesick.
The musketeers were kind, though a particular grump had a strange way of showing it, and jovial. But still, they were fighters. So far, fighters had tried to hurt them. Was it possible to truly trust these legendary fighters?
Meanwhile, Aramis and Porthos had retreated downstairs for a drink of wine. Athos trudged into the dining area. "What was that all about?" He asked indifferently.
"The young ones just having some sleep problems. You know how it is, in a new place." Porthos said casually, chugging down his wine.
Athos rolled his eyes. "Just what we need, two children who need to be tucked in at bedtime and have their noses wiped." He muttered thoughtlessly.
"My g-, Athos! Have some pity. The poor lass has had a most troubling time. Rochefort's men nearly raped her, Athos! Back at Meung, and not under the shadow of night!" Aramis exclaimed furiously. "He ordered them to! And he intended to do it himself once he killed D'Artagnan!" Aramis glowered at his friend, whom he respected and loved deeply as a brother. "I for one, am going to do all I can to see that they never go through that again, especially the girl. She's frightened. She doesn't trust us. How she's finding the guts to stay under our roof after what happened, only God knows!"
"It's the boy. Where he goes, she goes. Even if it is lodging with old sticks in the mud like us." Porthos added, shrugging.
Athos stared at Aramis, stunned and he began to sweat with shame. He had not known about the details of their ordeal with Rochefort. Of course, he hadn't because he hadn't stayed in the room to listen. He'd been so sourly pitying himself as usual that he'd left the room. If he'd stayed, perhaps he wouldn't have spoken so callously as he had just now.
"Make sure she's alright." Athos told them then walked away. He had to take a breather.
"Have some more." Porthos filled Aramis's chalice a bit more. "I have a feeling that we are in for a long night, my friend."
"If only there was something we could do, to make things a little easier." Aramis groaned, flustered.
"I do not think I shall be able to go back to sleep." Felice finally admitted to D'Artagnan. She was lying on her side, her shoulders hunched, and clinging to her brother's wrist. And she was still trembling. "I cannot, even if I tried!"
"I think the warm milk is a good idea." D'Artagnan suggested.
"N-no! Please." Felice shook her head. "I mean, d-don't bother them about it."
"They only wish to help." D'Artagnan shook his head, stunned that his sister was still trying to hide from the musketeers' small gestures of protection. He couldn't understand it at all.
"This isn't Gascony." Felice said blankly.
"No. It sure isn't."
"Charles, please don't leave me! Will you stay with me 'til I do fall asleep?"
"Of course, Sis." D'Artagnan smiled.
Two hours later, Athos cautiously opened the door to his bedroom and peered in. D'Artagnan was lying on his side, on the bed, next to his sister. He had drifted to sleep trying to comfort her. Felice's eyes were closed. "Good." Athos told himself. As he watched the two, he couldn't get over how they reminded him of little babes, sleeping peacefully, inseparably. D'Artagnan was there, so Felice was in good hands. Athos slightly smiled and closed the door. What had come over him all of a sudden? Athos did not allow himself to become easily attached to people. Why did he now feel the urge to look out for these young people, and make sure that they were safe in their beds at night, having feared the worst if he hadn't found them there?
"Treville gave us a commission. We agreed on it. We must see it through." Athos told himself, trying to convince his stubborn soul that he was not by any means growing fond of the kids under his care and protection. But the more he thought of them through the night, the more he hoped they would have a restful sleep!
But Felice was not asleep. She couldn't will her body to do it. She tried, but the awful images of the guards and Rochefort kept replaying in her mind over and over again. With each passing moment, she felt more helpless lying there in the bed. She finally got up out of the bed and restlessly paced around, shivering. The cathedral clock of the city chimed three times. She pulled her dress on over her nightgown and put her coat on. It was a little warmer.
"I cannot sleep in this place!" She told herself. She felt trapped. Listening closely to the door, as soon as she was sure she didn't hear anyone stirring, she crept out into the hall. Her heart pounded. If one of them stopped her, what would she do then? The last person she wanted to run into at this time was Athos, who would stop her in her tracks and question her. She tip-toed down the hall and into the kitchen. No one was there, to her relief! She snuck out the back door and walked into the stable.
The horses slightly wickered at the visitor. "Shh! It's alright." Felice told them. "Buttercup? It's me, girl!" She whispered loudly. Buttercup snorted in greeting. Felice slid into her stall and threw herself on the horse's neck. She wept and inhaled deeply of the steed's familiar scent, that reminded her so much of home. It made her miss home even more painfully. Buttercup twisted her head and nudged Felice's back in a 'hug'. "I miss them so much, girl!"
Once Felice had calmed down, she found Buttercup's horse blanket and wrapped herself up in it as she made a bed for herself of the feedbags. "Don't look at me like that." Felice told the horse. "This is the only place I can think clearly." Buttercup nodded, grunting.
It was dawn, and Planchet was up to fetch the milk they would need with breakfast. He greeted the horses as he went into town. He did not notice Felice, but his voice and the closing of the door reached her ears. She groggily looked up and found a warm horse's snout directly in front of her eyes. "Oh!" She sputtered. "Buttercup, wha-" She blinked, stretching. "Oh my! Have I been in here all night? I must hurry back before D'Artagnan freaks out and thinks I've ridden you back home!" She quickly kissed Buttercup then snuck in through the back door, hoping no one else was awake yet!
She peeked through the lower hall, leading to the cellar. So far, so good. She quietly hurried along, carrying her slippers so as not to make any noise. Her heart jumped into her throat when she reached the kitchen. Aramis was there, lounging comfortably in his chair with his long legs perched on the bench at the table. Of course, he was reading his Bible.
Just my luck! She thought. Well, she was no mouse. There was no way to sneak passed as he was already aware of her presence when he looked up curiously from his book. Felice diverted her eyes to the stairs and began trembling. This was the very thing she'd been trying to avoid. Well, better he I suppose than Athos! She thought, trying to calm herself.
"Good morning, Miss." Aramis smiled pleasantly.
"M-morning." Felice mumbled, rubbing her arms to try and squelch the shivering. "I, uh...I was…"
"Checking on your horse, no doubt. Hoping she'd made it through the night with peace of mind in such a strange place." Aramis finished, a bit sarcastically.
"Uhh, somewhat." Felice bit her lip.
"Won't you have some cocoa? It's fresh." Aramis offered.
"That does sound most inviting. But…"
"You're shaking. Sit." Aramis insisted. "It will warm you up, take the morning chill out."
"Thank you, but I-" Felice fumbled with her words. She wasn't sure if she wanted to be left alone with this man, whom she barely knew. He was very kind, but still a stranger. What if it was all an act? What if he was only luring her in, just waiting for the moment to pounce? She trembled harder at the thought. If only she could get to D'Artagnan and just be near him, then maybe she could calm down!
"You're cold." Aramis's melodious voice broke through her jumbled thoughts. "Sit, have a drink. You'll feel better." He stood up. Felice slightly jumped back, closer to the stairs. She gripped the back of a chair, just in case she should need to bash it across his pretty head if he advanced toward her inappropriately. She watched him closely, but saw that he was only filling a cup with the steaming, dark brown drink that smelled so delicious. He placed it near himself on the table. "Please, sit." He said.
Felice very slowly approached, and took the cup. "Th-thank you." She barely spoke, but she sat at the other far end of the table, keeping a safe distance.
"Something wrong, lass? You stare at me with trepidation, as if you believe I am going to beat you with a stick!" Aramis chuckled.
"I'm sorry. Just…" Felice shook her head. She took a sip of the hot cocoa. Ahh, that familiar smell and warm, sweet taste ran down her throat and did help soothe the quivers in her belly. It reminded her of home! She kept her hands around the cup, letting the warmth seep into her and melt over her edgy nerves. She didn't realize that she was already trembling less. "This is delicious! Did you make it?"
"No." Aramis sighed. "I wish I could take credit for it. Planchet stoked it."
"He has culinary talent!"
"Were you able to regain some sound sleep last night?" Aramis asked.
"Not really, no." Felice answered glumly, drinking her cocoa. Her eyes went back down to the table.
"Oh. I am sorry." Aramis said softly.
"It wasn't your doing." She mumbled.
"Felice," Aramis whispered, removing his glasses. Felice gawked at him anxiously. It was the first time he had directly called her by her first name and with such a serious tone. He faced her, not speaking until he was sure he held eye contact, something she'd been avoiding the entire time. "There's no need to feel ashamed, love." He said firmly but not unkindly. "What happened wasn't your fault."
Felice grimaced, rubbing her face. "He wanted to kill my brother. I couldn't stop him. And Charles couldn't stop him from…"
"Everyone knows Rochefort as the unsavory, intimidating type. You're not the first to be targeted by him. You're afraid of him, aren't you, lass?"
"I…" Felice began shaking again.
"And for good reason."
Felice fiddled nervously with her necklace, tears beginning to creep up her eyes. Oh, not now! Not in front of him!
"You're homesick, aren't you?"
"Yes." Felice said in a small voice.
Aramis put his Bible aside. "That's understandable." He told her in a soothing voice.
"It's so...different here. I...wasn't entirely prepared for it."
"No one is when they step into their future. It can be quite daunting at times."
"That's for sure!" Felice peered into her steaming cocoa.
"But, child, you must not fear us." Aramis said sadly. "My companions and I have no dastardly intentions toward you. Are you truly so afraid of us?"
"I...I'm sorry. It's...I…" her voice faltered. She felt so ashamed.
"I give you my word as a musketeer of the royal crown of France, we would never harm you." Aramis said earnestly. Felice tried to face him, but she couldn't.
"I'm...trying to believe that, Master Aramis. But, I...have a difficult time trusting now, when it comes to warriors. No offense."
"I understand. But will you not give us a chance to earn your trust?" Aramis asked, sounding greatly disappointed with himself that they had possibly, unintentionally hurt her so. She finally met his soft, dark eyes again.
"I will try." She whispered.
"Good." Aramis smiled warmly. "That is all we ask." Felice slowly smiled back, and she didn't have to force it this time. "Ahh, now that is what we need to see more of!" Aramis told her. She blushed, biting her lip.
"Well now," Athos cleared his throat as he entered the room, "you'd best freshen up, lass, if we are to meet before his majesty later! You certainly cannot enter the court looking like that!"
Some Aramis fluff, yes! Romance? No promises.