oneforall: (Determined)
I had heard ill tidings of the Cardinal Richelieu for years when I was a child, and admittedly came to Paris ready to believe the worst of him. Truly, did I ever find more than I had expected! (Even so, the sacrificing a baby as part of a dark marriage to a billy-goat was just a little too much to swallow..)

Yet for one of my compatriots, this came as a rather more unwelcome epiphany. Aramis.. He was one of the Cardinal's private pupils at one point! It's still difficult for me to understand how one could care so for him after all that he has done to France, but then the country has ever only been that man's second love. His first, forever and always, was our Lord God... And I cannot even imagine how it must have rocked him to find that the Cardinal, a man who in rank stood only below the Pope himself!, were an impious wretch out for temporal power! Knowing that he had looked up to such a churl, helping him in his ambitions while following blindly and thinking he was becoming closer to God, well. It is times such as those that one truly understands the parable saying, 'The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.'

I doubt he ever recovered from that crushing blow. I'truth, I wonder if his loyalty to the King stems in part from his desire to see the Cardinal humbled.. And I pray that I never have to find out.

The Three Musketeers
oneforall: (Legend)
Something I hope to do...

In truth, what other answer could I give than to become a Musketeer? To be sure, the same answer as I gave the year before, and e'en the year before that.. But nothing ever comes to a man who lacks persistence. This time, at least, I have some small hope of achieving it..

It has been an interesting year, to be sure. That braying idiot Gèrard and his brothers giving me such a rousing send-off, my evil genius the man in black so incivilly stealing my letter of introduction to Monseiur de Trèville, and finding myself in three duels in a row.. And that just when I had begun!

The fights with Jussac and Bernajoux were stimulating enough, and gaining a post in the Royal Guard was certainly a feather in my cap, but the finest aspect of the year without a doubt was the friends I had made.

Athos, old wolf; you may try being cold and bleak as best you can, but your tenacious loyalty speaks a far brighter story.

Porthos, storyteller extraordinaire! Your tongue is perhaps the only thing that flashes faster than your blade, and both weapons to beware when you choose.

Aramis, my Godly friend; no maid would go without catchecism had you the chance. And what man could ask a stouter ally?

My fondest wish, whichever year it be, is to become a Musketeer. With any luck, this time will come around seeing me wearing that tunic of honour. If not? There is naught to do but keep trying!

Muse: D'artagnan
Fandom: 3 Musketeers
Words: 261
oneforall: (Default)
The time was 11:30, and D'artagnan was behind the Luxembourg. Seems he was to finish that duel he had started... Was it really that little time since he last faced off against Athos? Well, hopefully a pleasant battle with such a well-considered friend would not feature grievous injuries to serve as a wellspring of vast angst and pathos; sometimes, you never could tell!

..And then his stomach rumbled. Sure, NOW he remembers to grab food!

A few minutes later, all that was at the agreed-upon spot was a swatch of the young man's cloak.


Dec. 1st, 2006 07:11 pm
oneforall: (Default)
A civilized art, to be sure. Absolutely required at court, a must for any gentleman.. And one of the better ways to gain a patron, Porthos tells me. Certes, I may manage a minuet or farandole as well or better than the next courtier, but give me a lively jig or reel for preference any day! These court waltzes are so bloodless compared to the country dances of my childhood; a man of fire and iron as any Musketeer should be has but little taste for such a bland vintage.

Yet even the strongest calling of a revel wild is drowned out by the song of clashing steel. A true dance of blades is a thing of fierce beauty and sharp-edged skills, partners locked in opposition yet moving as one. Blood rushes high and fierce in your veins as you match patterns with your foe, and though death may come with your next heartbeat here and now, you are alive!

Hot Gascon blood accounts for much of it, I fear, but I thank God daily that I have a king and country to fight for. The dance may be glorious, but to live for one's next partner... I have seen what that has done to men.

Muse: D'artagnan
Fandom: The Three Musketeers
Word Count: 184
oneforall: (Default)
I remember little of my grandperè's exploits or his forebears, I fear. My parents always taught me of our history of honour and nobility, stretching back a good five hundred years, but these men I did not know personally despite the pride I have in my lineage.

I do not remember my father's father, but I remember all too well my father himself, D'artagnan the elder. Strong he was, proud and not overly given to emotions.. Yet I could hardly hope for better in a sire, though I doubt he knew his true worth to his son. He taught me what it was to be a man, by both word and deed, showing me that valour is something ever to be sought and loyalty to King and Country were a trust greater than gold and more precious than any object could ever be.

He lived for his King. He died for his King. With such an example, I could never dream of doing less.

My mother, grand dame that she was, had been the rock of my childhood; richer families may have their young ones given into the care of servants, but my mother was always there and I could not but be the better for it. She always showed infinite patience and warmth for the silliest little details, whether I had a frog to show her or a broken wrist, and I loved her the more every moment for that.. She was all that a mother should be.

I remember a scene from my youth with vivid detail, when I overheard a porter offering his peers a crude remark about her, much to their crass and braying mirth. After breaking his nose and being thrown aside, I picked up a nearby tree branch and gave him the drubbing he so richly deserved. Though he were a grown man and I but a boy of ten, backing away was something I never considered.. Indeed, had there been ten of him, I would not have acted otherwise.

Her hot and bitter tears shed over me as I returned much the worse for wear, the sovereign ointment she dressed my wounds with that she later taught me to craft, and her shining pride in a son who stood up for her honor are moments I shall bear with me for aye.. though hopefully I have learned a little discretion since.

I have ever been proud of my ancestors, and I hope that one day I shall make my ancestors proud of me.

Muse: D'artagnan
Fandom: The Three Musketeers
Word Count: 370
oneforall: (Heart of a Musketeer)
Isn't it the dream of every man worth being called a man?

Monogamy. The one person with whom God intended you to spend your life with, the proof that our good Lord wishes happiness for His children. To find the other half of your soul. She who makes all the striving worthwhile, as you seek to be a man worthy of her regard. A girl to cleave to, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live.

Isn't that what we all are looking for?

Someone to grow old with. Someone to be supported by your strength, even as you are buttressed by their own. The one woman for whom your heartbeat dances, who causes you to laugh at odd moments and not know why, to finally understand why the poets prate so of eternal love..

The moment where it all makes sense.

Isn't that a dream worth dreaming?


oneforall: (Default)

March 2007



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