oneforall

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.

D'artagnan
The Three Musketeers
253

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.

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