I turned around and looked up ... into a pair of warm brown eyes. They belonged to a young man, about eighteen or nineteen (not much older than me). All right, so he was incredibly handsome. As was his white horse. But still, even if he did seem like a nice person on first sight, I was not the type to trust in people immediately.

"Do you need help?" he asked, extending a hand to me.

"No, thank you," I said, getting up (or trying to get up) myself. But no sooner had I teetered precariously to my feet that I suddenly felt weak again... Argh!~ I was going to land none too gently on the floor, but a strong arm around me broke my fall. I cracked first one eye open, then the other - but I immediately regretted that too, for I found myself pressed close against the handsome young man - extremely close, I might add. Those brown eyes of his were looking back at mine ... I hurriedly broke eye contact and pushed him, but he didn't let go.

"Th-thank you," I said shakily, not looking at him (and turning away to hide the blush that was surely forming on my cheeks). "But I think I can manage."

"Really?" he said, rather amusedly, which only served to infuriate me. "And let you walk by yourself? All right." He began to loosen his arm from around me. YESSS! I could walk by myself at last - wait, I could not! I suddenly found myself holding on to him for dear life as he laughed.

Ugh. These handsome guys, they're all the same. Such big egos, every one.

I noticed his clothes were rather old-fashioned, and that he carried a sword ... come to think of it, it reminded me of the outfits I had seen in that movie The Three Musketeers, about seven years ago. That certainly was a good movie ... I stopped short, and looked at the young man closely. He looked back at me closely.

"Wait ... you look familiar," I said. Then it hit me. "You're D'Artagnan, the Musketeer!"

"How did you know?" he asked, a bit pleased at my antics. "I didn't know I was that well known ..."

"But I saw you in a movie! Everyone did! You're famous!"

"What is a 'movie,' anyway?" D'Artagnan scoffed. "Whatever that is, I would probably never be in one ..."

I looked at him in growing shock. "Wait ... so you don't even know what a movie is?" I squeaked. "You're not an actor?" He gave me a strange look. I tried again. "All right then, what year is it?"

"1973, of course."

My resounding shout of "WHAAAAAAT!?" could have roused dead men from their graves.