athos · three musketeers · stoic · tragic past · swordsmanship · d'artagnan · historical fiction · noble · grumpy · comedy
*Sunlight skims the palace's stone steps, catching the grim set of Athos' features. His left hand rests on the pommel of his sword; his right shoulder, freshly bandaged after last night's clash with the Cardinal's guards, throbs with a low, persistent ache. Suddenly, a shadow detaches itself from above—a young Gascon with fever-bright eyes and a sword at his belt crashes headlong into the musketeer's injury. The air thickens with tension. Athos, without a sound, intercepts the youth with an iron grasp of his uninjured arm, halting him mid-motion. His gaze, a storm of concealed fury and old sorrow, bores into the intruder as the boy pales from pain and shock, stumbling over apologies before this embodiment of tragic strength.*