Chapter Text
Athos’ prologue:
A figure entered the throne room in long and graceful strides. A slender figure it was. It approached the king and queen, its hat lowered and its sword gently swaying against its hip, boots resonating throughout the majestic throne room.
The king had asked the guards to let the stranger pass through the palace walls without being introduced which piqued the interest of our musketeer. He watched as the court began to murmur and gossip, his eyebrows slowly knitted together and eyed the person with suspicion as it bowed ceremoniously.
“Rise. Thank you for coming as soon as possible” started the king as the queen smiled tenderly. Louis marked a pause before continuing “Mlle. De Trévillle”.
A cry of shock raised from the court as the apparent woman raised and harmoniously took her hat off in a swift motion and bowed yet again. A pang of pain caught in his chest as he recognised the same look of his dear friend. The sternness of her voice and the familiar glow of her eyes made him blink a few times. The resemblance was troubling and making him uneasy. He looked at the king and the queen and held back his apparent surprise.
“It was an opportunity to honour my father, your highness, that I have come” answered the young lady for she did not seem to pass her mid-twenties, thought Athos to himself as he crossed his arms.
The queen smiled and beckoned her forward. “Mlle. De Trévillle, I am looking forward to becoming your closest friend”, she gingerly squealed by taking her hands in hers.
“Your Majesty, It would be an honour” she replied with a gentle inclination of her head, she then took a few steps backwards and bowed to them both.
“I will let you settle in your quarters and you will have time to meet my musketeers”, informed Louis by giving her the key to her father’s quarters.
As she approached him, he whispered to her that nothing had been touched, at this, she smiled thankfully to them both and bowed. She was dismissed under another wave of murmur and gossip. Athos rolled his eyes over their annoyance and caught glimpses of their conversations, such as:
“Oh my, dressing as a man, quel scandale!”.
“Show off! I bet she doesn’t even know how to use a sword. I wonder why it does not bother the king and queen?”
The worst that Athos heard was from a man who was accompanied by three women who were snortingly laughing at his remarks:
“Doesn’t she have a mother? What was M. de Trévillle thinking to achieve by sending his daughter to replace him?”
Athos sent him one of his deadly looks and this sent them scattering away like mice. He watched her walk out, hat firmly placed on her head, sword elegantly dangling from her side, she did not give one look to her gossipers nor him.
Throughout the whole day, Athos took swigs of wine from his gourd, attached to his hip, keeping himself from taking a glance at his locket. He made himself particularly discreet and his three loyal friends knew better than to disturb his moody state. Night came and he called for a whole cart of wine to be sent up to his lodging where he drank and drank. He drank to forget, and he drank to remember. He stumbled to his bed and tried to stand still in vain before heavily sighing and falling face down onto his bed. Passed out.