Having been through the stage of finding myself surprisingly pleased with this story, I am now back in the more expected reaction of realising that it doesn't sound much like Porthos after all ( Read more... )

Think Only This of Me

Athos gave his life to save Charles Stuart. A grieving d’Artagnan must deal with the consequences. And there are some things, at least, that Porthos sees more clearly than any of them.

The Seigneur de Pierrefonds blew in from the little park at Bragelonne like a great gust of wind and demanded Mouston, who had made himself scarce somewhere in the depths of the house. But since his attendant was for the moment nowhere to be seen and the establishment was shrouded in the dismal air that had driven him out-of-doors in the first place, he caught up a candlestick and went himself in search of d’Artagnan. He had a certain uncomfortable sense that in abandoning the house of mourning he had likewise abandoned his friend, and now that the winter dusk had enforced his return, it was time to relieve d’Artagnan of his duties and stand guard in his place, so to speak, over the young Vicomte Raoul. For even if the Comte de La Fère had bequeathed his ward into d’Artagnan’s care, Porthos had a firm intention that the boy should become his son also.

They had gone together to break the dreadful news. D’Artagnan had not asked for support in that task, but Porthos had been quite certain that he needed it.

And it had been every bit as bad as he had thought. ( Read more... )

Proofreading and main editing completed on this one -- and YouTube happened to bestow upon me a rather nice still of Soviet Athos (Venjiamin Smekhov) at the end of an unrelated folksong video, which I might even try to make into an FFnet 'cover image', in honour of the actual nature of my fandom!)

A Sword Outwears Its Sheath

Athos has an encounter that will change his life... if not quite in the way intended.

Athos resta mousquetaire sous les ordres de d’Artagnan jusqu’en 1633, époque à laquelle, en revenant d’un voyage qu’il fit en Roussillon, il quitta aussi le service...

The street door opened with a creak and a gust of chilly October wind. The small child hovering on the threshold, half-visible in the dusk beyond, was of indeterminate sex and dirty beyond belief. Athos, sprawled wearily in front of the fire with the mud beginning to dry on his cloak and boots, could not help but be aware that in addition the new arrival smelt strongly of goat. ( Read more... )