Hullo, my friends! I am here writing another story WHEN I should be updating others, but oh well. Here is my Musketeers fanfic and leave me a comment please!
D'Artagnan gazed into the eyes of the man who had just tried to kill Louis XIII at four o'clock in the morning. His sword was raised in front of him in what was supposed to be a threatening manner, but honestly D'Artagnan was just trying to stay upright. His eyes were half lidded and closing over sea blue eyes before snapping back into focus.
Louis stood behind him, watching anxiously from over the Gascon's shoulder, but D'Artagnan paid him no mind as the man with brown hair, blue eyes and a malicious scar across his face grinned. D'Artagnan barely had time to form the question of why he was grinning before he was seeing stars and stumbling backwards, trying desperately to regain his balance. His cheekbone throbbed where it had been struck, and D'Artagnan was tempted to reach up and prod it to see how injured he was, but resisted.
He chastised himself silently, for he had lost focus, which he was trying desperately to keep. But the much older, more muscular man had big fists that he swung wildly. That...and they hurt like mad. "Oh come on, Gascon, can you not keep your focus?" He jeered, snarling. D'Artagnan didn't pay any attention, blocking and dodging and swiping his sword to match his opponent's.
D'Artagnan's shoulders slumped momentarily before stiffening again, his eyes snapping back open. He hadn't even realized he closed them.
Zagris- for that was the man's name- sneered at the young man, and D'Artagnan's eyes widened slightly as he swallowed. He seemed to realize for the first time that night that this battle wasn't going to be as easy as he had thought. Zagris was confident, controlled, and knew what he was up against. What did D'Artagnan know?
The man's name.
He took a deep breath, glancing down. He took another breath, slowly exhaling, and willing his hands to stop shaking. He didn't even know they'd been trembling. Straightening his back and standing a little taller, D'Artagnan felt determination filling his soul. Before he could do anything, however, a blade suddenly appeared out of the man's chest.
The convict, looking down at a slowly spreading, dark colored stain on his chest, his eyes widening, dropped to the ground when the blade was removed. There stood Athos, brows furrowed and lips turned up in a scowl, head tilted slightly to the side as if considering something somehow. Shaking his head, he muttered gruffly, "D'Artagnan," before grabbing said musketeer's forearm and dragging him towards the other end of the room, away from the intruder.
"Mmhm?" D'Artagnan murmured back tiredly, eyelids fluttering. Athos gave him a shake, making the boy's long locks of chocolate colored hair dance across his face and into his eyes a little, managing to drag them up so the baby blue orbs were visible.
"You lost focus," Athos scolded, nearly yelling, "you let him get too close!"
D'Artagnan made no response at first, which made Athos say darkly, "were you listening to me, boy?" The young country boy nodded, head lolling a little. There were thin scrapes to D'Artagnan's torso which made thin lines of blood through the white nightshirt D'Artagnan was wearing, and his cheek was bleeding freely.
"I'm up at four in the morning Athos, after a long day of practice; give me a break." D'Artagnan retaliated, shrugging Athos's hand off of him. Athos, who had been pondering how deep the stomach wounds were, snapped his sharp gaze back to the child standing in front of him. D'Artagnan had his arms crossed, his sword now sheathed on his belt, brows furrowed, and lips taut.
It had not occurred to Athos that the boy had been injured severely, but now that it did, he really should stop that bleeding.
"He'll be the death of me," Athos muttered, "the idiot child." D'Artagnan was overconfident and cocky, carefree and headstrong, always looking for a fight to entertain him and an adventure to go on. It annoyed Athos to no end that, seemingly, with almost every mission they went on, D'Artagnan ended up damaged in some sort of way, shape or form.
"D'Artagnan," Athos barked, temper flaring once more now that D'Artagnan had his gaze locked elsewhere, "boy!"
D'Artagnan's eyes darted to his, then to the ground. "Hm?"
"Strip," Athos said curtly.
D'Artagnan's keen gaze flew back to his face, his eyes widening. "Excuse me?"
"Take off your shirt, boy!" D'Artagnan did as told, but Athos caught the little winces and curses that flew freely from his mouth as he slowly and carefully removed his shirt. Athos knew D'Artagnan had fine muscles and was skinny as most children were, but he couldn't help but notice that D'Artagnan's ribs poked out a bit too much, his collarbone a bit too pronounced.
But the boy had a and could run fairly quickly too, so he supposed this didn't necessarily mean anything.
Frankly, all the occupants of the room had forgotten about the presence of the king until he spoke. "Oh D'Artagnan, I'll call my personal physician."
"Your Majesty, that really won't be necces-" D'Artagnan tried, hands wringing together, but Louis silenced him with a wave of his hand and a raised eyebrow.
"tut tut, I insist."
"Well...thank you, You're Majesty."
"Of course, D'Artagnan." Louis replied with something akin to fondess as he ordered a servant to send for the physician and all but commanded D'Artagnan to sit down. The young Gascon did so reluctantly, eyes darting between Louis and Athos in some unspoken, unknown message, and hands fisting in his tunic. It took Athos a moment to realize that D'Artagnan believed he was in some sort of trouble. Athos sighed, bringing a hand to his brow before pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling slowly. Gazing at the young man another long, piercing second, he noticed...D'Artagnan's hands were trembling.
His shoulders slumped and he was caught in the fact that he didn't know what to do. He knew he had to correct D'Artagnan on his life-threatening mistake, but didn't want to experience the look on the boy's face, which would probably be one of shame and embarrassment. Athos hated seeing this, and wished there was another way to go about critiquing the boy. Of course, if there was another method, it eluded the older musketeer shamelessly, taunting him with its distance yet teasing him, just out of reach.
"D'Artagnan, you need to keep your head in battle, you need to be aware of your surroundings at all times!" It was a growl, and Athos's eyebrows were plastered low on his forehead, trying to imply the seriousness of the error.
"And you need to understand the importance of focus, boy! You are dimmer than most, but a fine swordsman, and I'd like to keep you uninjured for three days at most! Seeking fights and overconfidence is a weakness and it is most unwise, even for a half wit like yourself! Do you never think?"
Silence met the rhetorical question, so Athos continued. "You need to use your opponents weakness, and never let your guard loose! You are arrogant, cocky. Sloppy."
"Hey!" D'Artagnan protested, eyes aflame and hands balled into fists. He mere notches from rising to his full height to go against the older man. Only Louis orders and presence kept him sitting. "I have been trained finely, thank you very much Athos, and I know what I can and cannot accomplish, I do not need your lectures in sword adequate!"
"You very well do, if it will peg you down! Your head is nearly as big as an airship, D'Artagnan, and do not talk back to me!"
D'Artagnan growled, glared at Athos, and set his jaw. "I-"
"Athos, D'Artagnan, that is enough!" Aramis interjected, becoming peacemaker between the two clashing heads once again, as was an action on many occasions.
"Do not!" Athos roared at Aramis, who glared at him with a ferocity seemingly incapable for the religious man.
"I do not-" D'Artagnan tried, but Aramis silenced him too with a look.
"Now, I expect this matter to be rested for the night. Enough." D'Artagnan looked at his feet, cheeks rosy with anger and embarrassment, but Athos and Aramis stared at each other coldly, both waiting for one to back down. Their staring contest was interrupted by a loud, extremely original curse from D'Artagnan's direction where they turned their attention. The physician was cleaning out the boy's wounds with a wet rag and doing rather well to ignore D'Artagnan's fluent original cusses.
"D'Artagnan!" Aramis scolded lightly, but said country boy did not hear him over his monologue. He was staring at the ceiling of the courtroom where the fight had originated, head back and hands clenching the under sides of the chair. Athos glanced around the room, preparing an apology to the king on D'Artagnan's behalf, but Louis was no where in sight. Athos, taking a step back and his eyes widening, looked about the room once more, before dismissing the thought. Louis was out of immediate danger, and had probably just gone back to bed.
Aramis sighed, shaking his head, and turning his gaze back to his older companion, who had walked away without his notice. D'Artagnan had asked not to be helped with the intruder, but he had just been so exhausted and hardly had his head in the duel- it was lucky Athos stepped in when he did. But Aramis realized it had made D'Artagnan feel useless, weak, and it had thoroughly embarrassed him; that was something Aramis never wanted the boy to feel, but in all fairness, without Athos...
D'Artagnan could have died.
The dawn was barely creeping across the horizon by the time they made it back to their little house, D'Artagnan dragging his feet more than usually from tiredness, but otherwise bandaged and alright. The four made their way through the door and shut the cold, dewy morning air out and entered the warmth of the small yet cozy building. D'Artagnan collapsed in a chair, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Mere moments later, his brows relaxed from their furrowed state, his whole face grew slack, and his body slowly went limp. Aramis listened for the last telltale sign- there, that was it.
D'Artagnan's breathing had evened out. He was asleep.
Aramis snapped his fingers in Athos's direction, who turned towards him, a question on his lips. When he caught sight of his young charge, however, he sighed, running a hand over his face. Opening his eyes again, he gazed at D'Artagnan with a certain degree of fondness, before approaching him as quietly as possible.
"D'Artagnan?" No response. "D'Artagnan?" Athos spoke in a hushed whisper, gently shaking D'Artagnan's shoulder. "D'Artagnan."
The boy's bright blue eyes fluttered open. "'thos?" He murmured in his half- aware state, and the older musketeers coaxed D'Artagnan up out of the chair, and up the stairs. He gently eased open the door to D'Artagnan's room, before guiding the still half-asleep D'Artagnan to his bed. The young man smiled at him before laying back and closing his eyes.
He was asleep in seconds.
Athos changed the shirt, removed the shoes, drew the blinds to block out the morning sun, and muttered, "Goodnight, D'Artagnan" before closing the door. He did not miss the returned, albeit slurred response of "Goodnight, Athos" on his way out.
Please comment on what you think and thanks for reading- chapter two up soon!