Chapter Text
Brothers, what we do in life echoes in eternity.
-Ridley Scott’s Gladiator
Paris, September 1656
The red evening sun plunged the dirty and busy streets of Paris in her gentle light, though dark, rainy clouds were about to replace her. The pattering of rain nearly drowned out the last, loud held conversations on the streets and washed away the muck and dirt from the day. The citizens of Paris were on their ways home, waiting for a hot meal and a comfortable bed.
In the middle of it, a tall man blazed his trail through the crowd. He wore a dark, leathern uniform, a silvery looking royal fleur-de-lis carved on the shoulder plate. The rain pelted on his hat, that covered his wet, short-cut hair and the drops gathered in his attentively trimmed beard.
The man came to a stop in front of a tavern, casted one last glance out on the street before he opened the door. Warm air poured out of the room and the smell of wine and bread greeted him.
With a smile, he steered towards a large table, where a few men in uniform were seated, chatting lively and each of them with a glass of wine in front of them. When they spotted him, they bawled.
“Finally. About time you arrive, man!” one of the soldiers yelled and slammed his cup on the table.
The man raised a hand before he sat down on the last free chair.
“Sorry. The Captain kept me busy today.”
Another one snorted. “Well, he is nervous.”
The man chuckled and took off his hat.
“He’s not nervous, Gaulier. He is just a little excited.”
The first soldier grunted. “He is excited? He knows them. But we? They’ve only been stories we were told for as long as we are in the regiment. They are heroes.”
The man ordered a wine and lowered his gaze.
“They certainly are. But you’ve seen them sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an honor to serve under our Captain, but I wish I’d known the three of them longer.”
“But you know the stories, don’t you?” That was the voice of a little boy, Gaulier’s son Verde, who sat on his father’s lap. Though it was morally questionable to bring a child into a tavern with a lot of drunken men, this one had enough musketeers to protect him. And he loved to hear the adventure-stories from his father or his friends, but this evening, everybody was looking forward to the arrival of three very special guests.
Captain d’Artagnan was more than excited, though he tried to hide it by keeping them all busy the entire day, sometimes with totally useless tasks, just so they wouldn’t see him. But there was something he was keeping from his soldiers, and he thought they didn’t realize it. He was a little distanced lately, careful, and he refused to tell them why.
“Yes, Verde, I know the stories. Everyone in the regiment knows them.”
“Not the way you do,” Gaulier interjected.
The man raised his cup of wine before taking a deep sip.
“Fair point.”
“How did Captain d’Artagnan meet them?” Verde asked innocently.
His father couldn’t hide an amused chuckle. “I told you the story many times, son. You know the story.”
Verde nodded eagerly.
The man leaned on the desk on both forearms and offered the child a teasing smile.
“Why don’t you tell me, Verde? I’d love to hear the story from you. Because I think your father told you the wrong one.”
Gaulier shot him a piercing look, but didn’t say anything. Verde on the other hand looked shocked.
“What do you mean? Father told me how Captain d’Artagnan came to Paris, and he ran into Athos, Aramis and Porthos all in one day.”
The man chuckled in amusement. “Well, so far so good. And then?”
“He challenged all three of them for a duel. Athos at 12 o’clock, Porthos at 1 o’clock and Aramis at 2 o’clock. When he arrived to duel Athos, he learnt that Athos’ seconds were Porthos and Aramis, and when the red guard attacked, they united to fight them!”
The man broke out into a soft laughter, but stopped as soon as he realized that he was the only one. His friends seated at the table all looked at him in confusion, apparently, that’s the story they knew too.
Gaulier raised his cup and took a deep sip of wine. “That’s not the real story, I suppose?” he asked dryly once the man had calmed down again. The addressed musketeer shook his head and leaned back, arms folded in front of his chest.
“No. Let’s just say, as much as the Captain would give his life for Athos these days, it started out a little different.”
“Meaning?”
The man grimaced.
“Well, the Captain blamed Athos for the death of his father. He came to Paris in order to kill him.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Gaulier breathed.
The man shook his head.
“I swear.”
-MMMM-
Paris, 1630
“I’m looking for Athos!”
The voice echoed through the courtyard and the three musketeers near the stairs were interrupted in their conversation. Athos turned around, reacting casually to the request.
“You found him,” he answered calmly, his usual, indifferent expression shadowed by curiosity.
D’Artagnan raised his pistol and aimed at Athos, his face a mask of hate.
“My name is d’Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony.” He made a short pause and lowered his gun. “Prepare to fight, one of us dies here.”
“Now, that’s the way to make an entrance,” Aramis commented from his place on the stairs as Athos pulled out his sword with a mixture of interest and annoyance.
“Can I ask why?” he asked in a tone that told everyone he was very sure that there was only one way this duel could end. It was no secret he was the best swordsman in the garrison. A farmboy from Gascony couldn’t be a challenge.
“You murdered my father,” d’Artagnan replied.
Athos furrowed his brow slightly.
“You’re mistaken. I’m not the man you’re looking for,” he said, hoping to avoid an unnecessary death.
But the young Gascony boy couldn’t be lectured, apparently.
“Murderer!” he yelled as he ran towards Athos, his rapier ready to attack. He landed multiple sword-strikes, forcing Athos into defensive mode.
They circled each other, d’Artagnan pointing at Athos with the tip of his sword.
“Do you deny you shot Alexandre d’Artagnan two days ago in cold blood?” d’Artagnan growled, swinging his sword to the side.
“I usually remember the men I kill, that name means nothing to me,” Athos explained warningly, keeping the attacker away with a raised rapier.
“Then you’re a liar as well!” d’Artagnan declared and lashed out with his sword again. Both men pulled out a main gauche, focused on their duel.
Porthos and Aramis watched from the sideline, a little confused but interested.
Athos and d’Artagnan kept on launching attacks at one another, both parrying the opponent’s blows, but none able to truly gain the upper hand.
“Remarkable,” Aramis murmured to Porthos. “He’s keeping up with Athos.”
“Rubbish,” Porthos countered, clearly enjoying the entertainment in front of his eyes. “He just doesn’t want to hurt the lunatic.”
Aramis grinned and returned his gaze to the fight. A short while after, Athos was able to defeat d’Artagnan, pushed him against one of the wooden pillars and plunged his dagger into the wood next to the young man’s head.
“That’s enough!” he bellowed, before he stood up face to face with his opponent. “That could’ve been your throat. Don’t make me kill you over a mistake.”
He let go of the man and turned his back on him, clearly upset now.
“I didn’t kill your father, and I don’t want to kill you.”
D’Artagnan scowled, pulled out the dagger and threw it.
“Athos!”
The warning echoed through the courtyard and Athos turned around last second to avoid the blade being thrown at him. The weapon sank into the wood a few inches next to Aramis’ hand, who looked up, a little offended.
D’Artagnan gathered his weapon and held it out.
“And that could’ve been your back. Now fight me or die on your knees.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t care which.”
Athos just tilted his head slightly, not quite sure what to say. He had enough, he didn’t want to fight the kid.
“No?” d’Artagnan asked in is rage and charged towards Athos, his sword ready to pierce the musketeer, when his blade was blocked by another one. Aramis had shielded Athos from the younger’s attack.
“He said enough,” Aramis explained politely.
“Very well,” d’Artagnan said. “I’ll fight both of you.”
-MMMM-
Paris, 1656
“Well, that’s what’s always been told,” Verde explained expertly, “Challenge one, fight three.”
The man smiled broadly. “That’s kinda the essence of the musketeers, but I’m sure you know that, little one, am I right?”
Verde nodded enthusiastically.
“How did it end?” his father asked, curiosity glistening in his eyes.
The musketeer refilled his cup of wine. “Well, our Captain fought all three of them, but was defeated in the end. Constance interrupted the whole scenario before anything else happened one might’ve regretted later.”
“Oh,” Gaulier said in surprise and an amused smile flashed over his face. “So not only did he try to kill Athos, but he was saved by the interference of Constance back then already? Oh, I’m gonna love teasing him with that.”
The man chuckled wryly.
“I’d advise you to do that when he’s in a good mood.”
Gaulier saluted sarcastically and another man, they all called him Rissé, murmured something that sounded like “every man needs a woman like Constance in his life”.
The man snorted.
“Oh come on, Rissé. Everybody knows you are scared of the Captain’s wife.”
Rissé scowled.
“Yes, because I am a lot smarter than all of you idiots. Mark my words, there will come a time when all of you think of me while you are caressing your red cheeks after she slapped each and every one of you for your stupidity”
Gaulier raised a placating hand.
“Yeah, sure. She likes me, I don’t think she’ll ever do that to me.”
The man couldn’t help but laugh.
“Oh, she liked Aramis too. Would you like to ask him the number of times he experienced her wrath first hand? ‘cause I think he keeps a list.”
Now it was Gaulier’s turn to join in the cheerful laughter and even Verde smiled a little.
“You really know the stories in detail!” he said and looked admiringly at the man. He tilted his head.
“I do.”
“Can you tell some more? I know so little about them!”
Gaulier shushed his son and cast a shy glance at the man.
“He is very excited for their visit. And you are the only one who knows some stories first hand, and some stories directly from their mouths, Brujon.”
The man, Brujon, nodded and returned his attention to the child.
“Which one would you like to hear?”