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dexclermont:

       embarrassment had deeply rooted it’s self inside of sophie and only further forbid her from seeking help or comfort that she so desperately needed, what on earth could she say? she couldn’t exactly run crying to a guard at first sight, crying wolf and telling all about what her new husband had done. it was her duty - that was what they would say - and she could hear it repeating in her own head as if it should condone how painful and awful the ordeal was. the blood alone was a big enough alarm bell. expecting the cloak to be enough to cover her had been wishful thinking, especially as he lifted a candle and shed light upon her face as well as his own; at which point it was a face she came to recognize. it wasn’t that he was a regular face among court but she had seen him at the side of fabien marchal and plenty of noble women had been muttering about the handsome new musketeer, had she been in a better mind set she would have certainly told herself that she absolutely agreed with them.

when he failed to finish his own enquiry it became clear that he had made his own mind up about what to think of the situation, only adding to her shame and the flush on her cheeks. she wanted to say it out loud, she wanted that monster to get some kind of punishment for how he had hurt her, but so many things pushed the words back down her slender throat and kept her silent. at the mention of other guards being on duty sophie’s eyes widened slightly as she shook her head, perhaps showing the first response that hadn’t been wrapped in horror. “ no, no, i do not wish for anyone else to see me…like this. ” for a brief moment her eyes cast to the room around them drifting away from the door she entered through to spy one of the ‘hidden doors’ that would lead to the dark passages that were unseen to most attending court, perhaps there she could find a way to fabien’s dark little office since even that sounded more welcoming than going back to that room. “ i cannot thank you enough for your kindness, monsieur, and i do not wish to interrupt you further. ” words were spoken through tears, her voice slightly weakened by the building urge to let out a sob. “ i am feeling quite restless so i may stay here, if i am not in the way? i wont use the halls ways to leave, if that reassures you. i know of the other corridors that lead from here. …i - forgive me, i do not even know your name. you are new to court, oui? many ladies have taken a liking to you.”

keep your eyes open but mouth shut. The words rang through his ears, still, as he inspected the young noblewoman clinging onto the cloak she had urgently wrapped around her petite frame.  Poorly hiding the spot of blood he had caught a glimpse of earlier. As dutiful as he was — wanted to be, d’Artagnan couldn’t wrap his mind around the injustice of the world. Had often been forced to bite his tongue when all he wanted to do was question the very foundation of their society. In the quiet, dark room, there was nothing to hold him back from stepping up and doing what, in his opinion, was the right thing to do. The dutiful option would have been to accompany her back to her rooms, her husband, and stay out of the matter. Alas, the Gascon didn’t. Concern was written all over his face, compassion holding his heart in a vice grip as the Duchess seemingly fought a battle of her own within. Doe-like eyes continuously filled with tears, reflected the dim light offered by the candle until they were blinked away before they could roll down her cheeks again. Thus his reaction to her sudden panic was equally as intense, a hand quickly raised in an attempt to calm her. “No one will. I am not...you are alright. I will not make you do anything you do not wish to.” At least, he could actually promise that in the privacy the empty room allowed. For once, he was quite thankful he had been told to stay in the quiet parts of the palace - as he figured was the norm for those new to court. Dark orbs followed her gaze toward one of the inconspicuous entrances that offered an alternative path through the palace, reserved only for a certain few and otherwise only to be used in emergency situations. Neither of which ever applied to d’Artagnan...not on his first days, at least.

 “You are not interrupting anything, your grace. Please, if you wish to stay here, I will not be in your way. Come - you should have a seat.” His hand kept its distance while he usually would have guided her to one of the chairs seated within the room. However, he chose to merely gesture her to follow him as he stepped toward the corner furthest from the hallways to place the candle on a small table. He couldn’t offer her much of a comfort, other than a small smile. “Would your grace be offended if I told her I would be much more reassured if she sat down? I may be able to find a chambermaid still running through the hallways, find clean clothes and perhaps something to drink...” The young Musketeer looked up from his in-thought frown as his eyes had dropped to the ground for a mere second. Instead, landed on the distressed Duchess. At first, he wanted to reassure her he took no offense at her not knowing his name. He was but a guard, after all, and she must have more important matters on hand than a musketeers name. Then, he smiled. Perhaps, it was best to offer her some form of distraction and inquire what happened later. The spiral candle holder was quietly placed down before he took a seat on the small, wooden table himself as to not upset her further with any unintentionally intimidating gestures. A slightly more uncomfortable look on the Frenchman's face at the bold statement seemingly coming out of nowhere. “d’Artagnan. Not the d’Artagnan, that would be my father. Yes, this would be my first night on duty, your grace. I do not..know of any ladies having taken a liking to me, perhaps it is the boredom of every day being seemingly alike. I- forgive me. That was uncalled for and inappropriate. It is not my place to cast any judgment on anyone.”

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dexclermont:

        with her back to the man she had yet to identify sophie felt as though she created some kind of barrier between them - one that could be just s easily broken should he get close enough. a bloodied night dress was not easy to disguise, the least she could do was to keep one hand holding whilst the other pushed up the shoulder that had fallen down, until she spotted something draping over a chair from the corner of her eye. very quick side steps were taken before she picked up a cloak that a guest must have left behind by mistake and, while it was too big for her slender frame, pulled it on before daring to even glance back at the man she slowly identified to be one of the king’s musketeers; one she had sen by fabien at that. your grace, duchess… the words sounded dirty as they rolled off his tongue for she barely considered that man to be her husband let alone herself a duchess of any sort, it only added to the confusion surrounding her own identit. “ i believed i had misplaced my cloak but, as you can see, i have found it. ” she turned with a false selse of confidence but her shoulders slacked and her eyes continued to produice tears that her ignoring them couldn’t stop. with one hand holding the cloak firmly shut at the front to disguise the blood as best as she coul, she tried to offer a smile but all she produced was a sob instead and cast a feelig of shame upon herself. “ i ask kindly that you do not speak of this to anyone, everyone being asleep was my hope. i waned - i do not even know where i wanted to go, the princess perhaps. i do not know. ”

There was a handful of ‘should have’s’ crossing d’Artagnan’s mind as he approached the young Duchess. Should have dropped it. Should have just wordlessly helped her to her destination. Alas - he didn’t. He had been warned to keep his mouth shut, to stay silent. A watchful eye, the hand leading the blade free of judgment and opinions. Unfortunately, the young Gascon was born with his heart on his tongue and undying ideals that he soon would find out just how stubborn he was about his beliefs. Lifting a candle off the window sill he stood next to, he caught only a glimpse of red stains as the fair noblewoman whirled around to wrap a cloak tightly around her shoulders. Had it been any other situation, the mere sight of a woman her status in nothing but a night-gown should have had d’Artagnan bashfully look away instead of seeking to find the truth behind the bright red that had been visible even in the dim room. The polite smile that had wavered between genuine and concerned soon turned into a full frown - dark brows furrowed and lips of a tight line. Her sob echoed through the empty room and tears reflected the small light source the candle offered. 

“Of course, not, your Grace.” He muttered, words nearly stumbling over each other as he found himself to be at quite a loss over his own, pounding heart. His gaze took in the sight of her - red stains peeking through the opening of the cloak, nightgown hanging off her shoulder beneath the heavy material, tears running down rosy cheeks. Perhaps, it was instinct as his hand fell onto the handle of the rapier secured around his hip. “Has anyone hurt you? You...” At first, he wanted to inquire the details of exactly what had occurred. Yet, at the sight of her distress and obvious loss, part of him chose to stay quiet. Had she been attacked, the entirety of the castle would have woken up, heard her, guards rushing to the scene. The fact that she had sought no help and hid all that could be seen as evidence, had the Musketeer halt and mentally take a step back. No matter how vile he felt for swallowing his words - all he would do was force her to repeat whatever had happened to her that she clearly did not want to be known. As heartbreaking as it was, even for a stranger that had no right to speak up or judge. “Your grace? Would you like me to accompany you to the Princesses room, perhaps? I fear I will not be the only one on guard, tonight, and you should not wander the hallways on your own. I...all will be well...”

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dexclermont:

        wandering the corridors at such an hour was suspicious beyond belief, fortunately for young sophie they were quite deserted after a long and loud gathering that went on until early hours. with only candlelight to guide her way, she made her way through the pristine corridors barefoot silently, the only thing covering her being her dark hair tumbling over her shoulder and the night shift that hung from her slim frame, while she had every urge to let her sobs fill the empty corridors surrounding her. the desired destination had been the chambers of the only person she knew that might be able to offer the support she need desperately, the emotional kind and not just someone who would become awkward or threaten to kill the person responsible, but she was soon thrown off her course when she heart heeled shoes clicking against the marble flooring in the distance. it would have been anyone and no one but she didn’t want to risk being seen like that. instead, she made a sharp turn into an empty room that was lit only by moonlight only to spot a figure ahead and turned away sharply without knowing whom it might be. “ apologise, monsieur, i - i did not think to run into anyone here. at this hour. ”

for @dxxtagnan because we hate happiness.

— a few days had passed only since his administration within court. A young man, full of ideals, hopes, and dreams - perhaps, expectations of a world he was yet to grow into. Granted, growing up, d’Artagnan certainly had an advantage given his father’s name and position.  Being the son of a Musketeer all too well known and close to the King himself, he already had grown up surrounded by men of duty, played with swords before he could properly sit on a horse. Working his way up the ranks and receiving his commission, at some point in his life, had simply been what he imagined destiny to have planned for him. Never had there been anything else d’Artagnan could’ve pictured himself doing. His first night at the palace - fair to say the young man had expected more than guarding the corridors of blind belief to experience something more...exciting? Now, now, he didn’t want anyone to find themselves hurt or any of that nature but after having stood in the same spot for hours without even the smallest of conversations, he found himself missing the excitement actual missions supplied him. At least, until the sound of shoes erratically clicking against polished marble floors in the distance had his ears peaking. A gloved hand cautiously took its place on the rapier sitting on his hip as the Gascon craned his neck. To his surprise, it was a young woman. A young woman still out on the corridors at untimely hours, voice strangely strained even as she turned away from him. Though the glimpse he caught was enough to recognize the lady - even young Musketeers had to learn all about etiquette and how to not offend anyone of status and title. “Your Grace, please, there is no need to apologize. Though...with all due respect, should you not be in your chambers? It is quite late, everyone has long gone to sleep.” Breaking free from his position, d’Artagnan approached the Duchess, a - absolutely out of order - smile on his lips. “May I accompany you back-” Words caught in his throat as the dim moonlight illuminated strains on her cheeks, without a doubt traces of tears. He should’ve known better, simply let it go because it wasn’t his business. Yet, he found himself doing the exact opposite. “Are you unwell?”

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                                                  But the end is the same, my dear.                                                                   CONQUEST.

                       ((  independent and selectve ‘sophie de clermont’ from versailles.  ))

                                                MAIN  ⚜️  ASK  ⚜️  MUSE  ⚜️  RULES

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Now you’re gonna go in there. Yeah! Look like a million bucks! Yeah! And you’re gonna slay em’ dead.

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sometimes it physically pains me to hold back my sarcastic comments 

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ordinaryxgentleman:

“We were indeed,” Athos agreed and - being back at the Garrison - half expected Porthos and Aramis to come join them, hence making them the Inseparables once again. But times had changed and they were all going their separate ways now. Which, perhaps, was for the better. Though d’Artagan’s words and reminder of Sylvie certainly made Athos wish it wasn’t so. It made him wish that things were the same as they had been in the past; he could use the distraction of his brothers and the thrill of the battle that made him forget about everything else for the time being. Perhaps even the temporary numbness the alcohol brought him. Unlike the other, Athos wasn’t so sure that he was deserving of anything good, let alone happiness. If he was, fate surely wouldn’t be as cruel to him - and especially not towards the ones he cared for - would it? “Perhaps she would have.”

Athos was sure that d’Artagnan must have noticed something, given how terrible he was at hiding his sorrow. So, knowing the younger one was rarely one to hold back, Athos was beyond grateful for him not questioning any of it, and instead continuing on with the more lighthearted topics. Something he felt he desperately needed. “You are far more cruel than I remember you. Being the Captain of the Musketeers seems to have made you rather ruthless. Those poor cadets have no idea what is in store for them.” Shaking his head, together with a small grin, Athos had to admit that he too enjoyed the prospect of giving those cadets a small.. surprise. “But you are right. It has been quite some time ever since I have made any use of my skills - and joints. I am sure I could use some little practice. And I am certain it will teach them the valuable lesson of always being alert. And never underestimating an old man.”

D’Artagnan’s offer to take him in for as long as he desired didn’t exactly come as a surprise, but it was a relief nonetheless. Having a place to stay - a place that he had once, and now would again, call home - certainly meant a lot. It was of little comfort, but some sort of comfort nonetheless. “Thank you, d’Artagnan. I will make sure to do so. Now if you will excuse me.. I shall see if I can still find my way to my room.”

Dust electrified the air, rapiers clashing, distant shouts and instructions coming from a corner. Five young men playfully taunting each other as mud stained shirts hung off their bodies. A sight he missed all too dearly, despite the different paths they had chosen themselves. In truth, d’Artagnan would always wait right there. Offering a home, like Treville had so many years ago. He’d have had to lie if he were to say he didn’t wish for a reunion. For them all to ride out together again. Feeling the unmistakable bond of brothers. But he refused to dwell on the what if’s when Athos stood in front of him, words leaving his mouth that had the young Captain’s brows furrow. Would have. Athos wasn’t the type of man to speak without thinking. Concern riddled d’Artagnan’s features, though he did not voice them. Had decided to keep the uneasiness settling into the pit of his stomach for himself. 

“Those poor Cadets are arguing daily that they need the Queen’s commission, yet run around like headless chicken the second they have to improvise. At this point, they couldn’t even earn a farmers commission. Talent alone won’t always get you far.” Whatever it was that had Athos return to Paris, whatever it was he kept quiet about still, nothing could offer a better distraction than having a purpose. To be needed. At least, d’Artagnan loathed the quiet, slow days that seemingly refused to pass at times. Although he often complained about his tight schedule and stressful hours, he wouldn’t have traded them for anything in the world. “Don’t hurt them too much. Physically, at least. A step down a notch or two wouldn’t hurt any of them, rest assured. It certainly hadn’t hurt me. Though, I doubt it was underestimation on your part rather than cockiness on mine when we first met. That and some.”

The Gascon wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the wooden door creaked open again. He sat at his desk, going through paperwork that he, most likely, never would grow fond of. No matter how important it may have been, sometimes he missed the adventure and adrenaline, given since the first commissions, he had stayed in the Garrison to overwatch the newest recruits rather than ride out all the time himself. The feather slim fingers had clutched was placed aside as his old friend entered the room again. His back meeting the chair as he found himself a more comfortable, relaxed position. “Everything alright with your quarters? I’m sorry it’s not quite a King’s chamber but I’m certain it’s alright, no?”

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I LOVE YOU TOO BEX AKA THE ONE PERSON I KNOW THAT’S STRANGELY OBSESSED WITH A CITY AND DEAD FAMILY. NEVER CHANGE.

Mermaid

Mermaid: Tag someone who is a positive influence on you.

this is a tricky one because the person is a positive influence in the WORST way? @dxxtagnan - my light, my love, my fellow european. at this point liz keeps me (in)sane on a daily basis, inspires me to write like nothing else AND SHE’S JUST SUCH A JOY! the passion she has for her trash son d’artagnan is both admirable and a little scary, even when she makes fun of him and his bow legs. I JUST LOVE HER, OK.

                                october positivity | accepting. ( ALWAYS ACCEPTING POSITIVE VIBES )

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1.01 vs. 3.01 - “surprise would have been everything.”

(bonus athos:)

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REPOST,  DON’T  REBLOG!  

NAME:  Liz NICKNAME: The chosen one (not actually but y’all should start doing that) AGE:  21 FACECLAIM:  Luke Pasqualino  Pistacchio PRONOUNS: she/her HEIGHT:  5′9  BIRTHDAY:  August 8th AESTHETIC: (I’m shit at this) Coffee. sun, 20 unfinished projects, clutter. throat cutting winged eyeliner. Conspiracy theories. (nailed it, Liz) (Insert the confused John Travolta meme)

LAST  SONG  YOU  LISTENED  TO:  7 Shots - Volbeat

FAVORITE  MUSE(S)  YOU’VE  WRITTEN: d’Artagnan, (not on this) Illya Kuryakin (listen Armie 6″5 woke af Hammer is an actual blessing to this world and people can fight me over that. Plus he’s got the best porn name.)

WHAT  INSPIRED  YOU  TO  TAKE  ON  YOUR  CURRENT  MUSE  ( THAT  YOU  ARE  POSTING  THIS  ON ):  My complete trash ass for the Musketeers. I don’t know, I loved the portrayal of d’Art in the BBC show and the complexity that has been put into the character by not just being like ‘Young idiot that can fight 50 armed men singlehandedly, gets the girl without any struggle and no one gives him shit when he’s being a piece of shit”. I’m weak for the type of horribly flawed ‘heroes’. (Don’t get me wrong I’m a big sucker for villains as well, the snarky type that just acknowledges they’re a piece of shit...or anti-heroes. Hit me up with that deadpool ayy). Buut yeah that’s about the gist of it? I just really loved d’Artagnan and my first reaction to characters I like is generally ‘wow. I’m gonna play the shit out of you’. Well and Luke’s bow legs forced me to.

WHAT  ARE  YOUR  FAVORITE  ASPECTS  OF  YOUR  CURRENT  MUSE:  I just love how versatile he is tbh, especially when it comes to development. He’s never quite lost his...let’s call it temperament and still matured very well and there’s little you couldn’t do with him. Whether it’s an AU or just situations where you kind of wage his reaction - righteous angry duckling to understanding and gentle without being flawless by any means. For me playing him is sort of...easy because I can be impulsive and not contemplate his next move or what he’d say because that’s sort of the whole thing about d’Artagnan.  His impulsiveness and kinda ‘follow your heart’ mentality is just fun without being one of those overbearingly perfect characters because oh boy, he can be a piece of shit and make mistakes.  

WHAT’S  YOUR  BIGGEST  INSPIRATION  WHEN  IT  COMES  TO  WRITING:  Honestly plotting and people that are as hype as I am. I’m passionate about the things I do and there’ll be a lot of screaming in caps when I get excited and I just love when people are as pumped as I am. Not even just plotting but headcanons and discussions in general. I like talking about e v e r y aspect of characters and their actions and love hearing about others too because it just gives you a better understanding and makes rping a lot more comfortable when you really know each other inside out. Idk I just love when people throw the smallest of details about their characters at me like hello I live for that.

FAVORITE  TYPES  OF  THREADS:  All of them? I mean I wouldn’t start threats I’m not super into my lack of being able to focus on anything that I’m not hyperfocused on is pretty bad and I’d lose muse in a second.  But for the sake of giving a proper answer - I love anything that allows me to explore my character in situations I haven’t yet done. And angst. This right here is a fucking dramatic bitch. 

BIGGEST  STRUGGLE  IN  REGARDS  TO  YOUR  CURRENT  MUSE:  I should probably hit more people up? I’m not awkward per se or shy, I don’t really have a problem throwing my ass at whoever’s out there I just tend to ...forget. Like seriously I’ll have the messenger open and get distracted for 2 hours straight and then just forget. ...story of my fucking life. 

TAGGED  BY:  @riscng  ( <3 ) TAGGING: @ilvecchiio   @ellacinders and I mean anyone who wants to?? You do you mate I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life

[dxxtagnan-blog]

Never was anything great achieved without danger.

Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince (via unculturedmag)

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the musketeers → first to last moments

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riscng:

dirt rises like the sea around boots & & trousers, though intangible & & harmless in dispersement, leaving only the faint imprints of mineral on unsuspecting fabric. heel slides back, knee bent & & —

PARRY ! steel clashes, ringing out its melodic notes of violence usurped over the garden rows, neatly trimmed as they always are ( & & as he makes sure they remain ). he shouldn’t be doing this, not with the new robes he must don & & the SHADOW OF CROWN ringing thick skull. but the boy’s still young & & he can’t say no this morning when it reminds him so much of the LAST MORNING with the young man he’d kneeled to from beginning to end. gruff sound emitted from lips when the young man ( no longer so little sire ) blocks his thrust & & they both jump back again — could be mirth, could be exasperation — he’s trained himself well enough to PERFECT COURTLY MASK. 

the grounds are quiet save for the occassional morning warble & & he can almost pretend that he is just any other old man sparring with young lad familiar to him by EVERYTHIN BUT BLOOD.  ( almost ). they’re interrupted by the approach of another & & carefully crafted response to dispel any sort of reprimand or gossip is already on wisened tongue before he recognizes figure of MOST TRUSTED. 

“d’artagnan ! ! ” he greets with a heaving breath, lowering sword as the two look over at the other, sun still hidden behind morning nimbus so as not to force squinting measures. the young king makes a comment ( treville ! we’ve not yet announced a winner ! ) to which he replies good-naturedly, “majesty, allow an old man to rest these tired bones. surely, you’d rather spar a healthy young musketeer.” under his breath only loud enough for the approaching musketeer to hear, he mutters, “at least he remembers what i taught him.”

@dxxtagnan !

Sunrays peaking through casement windows blinded the young Musketeers dark eyes as he passed the familiar hallways of the house of Kings. Or, as in the most recent of cases, Captains gone Ministers gone Regent. No man would have been a better fit or more appropriate than Treville - a father figure in the eyes of so many. The young Gascon included. One family lost and left behind, another gained in unlikely places. 

Heavy boots echoed off the surrounding walls, past guards dutifully awaiting their shift to end; new commands so that hours passed by faster. Soft fabric flowing in small waves from his left shoulder blew in the quiet breezes of the early morning in Paris. From a distance, the clashing of sorts and shifting of feet on sand and gravel filled the air of the otherwise silent gardens. It never ceased to amaze d’Artagnan how much the King-to-be looked like his mother yet it was their old friend that seemed to smile at them each time. 

The King’s passion for fighting, however, must have come from the very man whose carefully planned movements parred the young man’s actions. A skilled young lad; ambitious, competitive but under the best protection anyone could possibly ask for. Treville had fathered a Garrison full of grown, and not so grown, men for years. Fathered the King of France - no matter the outcome. 

A smile found its way onto the Musketeer’s face as his name was called out by the man heaving and facing him. Signs of the times grazed his features, deep lines that only seemed to increase each year visible. No less reason to point such out in the privacy that was rarely enjoyed. D’Artagnan regarded the Dauphin with a curt bow, intense eyes holding only a hint of amusement as the gesture was repeated for the King Regent. “Good morning your Majesty, your Excellency.” Oh, how strange it still felt after so many years, the man that had shouted commands over dirt and mud, had given him the chance to earn the respect of the King so long ago, being in charge of France. No man could have possibly been a better fit. 

“While this healthy young Musketeer could not imagine a task more honorable, I must decline this early morning. I am sure your Majesty understands the important matters to be discussed. I must ye old, old man for an audience of great urgency.” The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. Albeit somewhat of an excuse for not only Treville but himself, given the King’s training sessions could last for hours straight at times, he did find himself in need of the elder's advice. Once out of the royal’s ear range, a dark brow quirked as d’Artagnan regarded the ex-Captain with a lopsided, all too boyish, grin. “Your old bones can thank me later. You do plan on continuing this until you dislocate a hip, hm?”

[dxxtagnan-blog]

ᴺᵉʷ ᵇᵉᵍⁱⁿⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ || ᶜᵒⁿˢᵗᵃⁿᶜᵉ & ᵈ’ᴬʳᵗᵃᵍⁿᵃⁿ

@riscng

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It was strange. How fast people could adapt to life and the changes thrown at them. How little one’s issues mattered to others when they consumed their every breath. The humankind was resilient and it never ceased to amaze the young Gascon how easily they could move on. Only hours had passed since the Queen’s speech. Since his brothers had all gone their respective ways. Yet, the city streets were buzzing with life. Frenchmen and women screaming over the tables set up with fruits and vegetables, desperate to make a living in the cruel world riddled by war.  To them, it made no change who was in charge. A Queen or a King, royal by blood, whether they were fit for the position or not. Only those of privilege had the time to concern themselves with nobles and higher, those that didn’t fight to survive the next day. It was on the Queen regent to see to the changes, everyone else would do what they always did - watch out for their families in hope of someday leading a better life. 

And yet, life had turned on a dime for the couple observing the Parisian crowd. There was so much to do - a new life, new responsibilities. At least, for d’Artagnan. During his time serving in the Spanish-French war, she had taken over so much. Had been in charge of those all-too-mouthy Musketeer cadets that soon learned their place. She had the experience in logistics and the overall picture than him and that, at least, was relieving. At least as relieved as one could be when they suddenly had to take over a regiment, one he remembered coming into stumbling and tumbling. A young boy with a heart full of anger and hurt...and a whole lot of confidence. Too much, actually. 

Soon, they reached familiar surroundings, stalls that never quite changed, shielded from the sun by hall walls. A gloved hand rested on his wife’s comfortable placed on the crook of his elbow as the young Captain - proudly wearing the hat received by his old friend - exhaled loudly. The heaviness of the situation was started to settle in and with that, came everything laying ahead of them. Still, the smile on his was would not budge. “We should seek the Queen’s audience first thing in the morning to ask for funds. Once we estimated the cost ahead of us for rebuilding. I am certain she will appreciate that the first thing we bring forward is about money.” He chuckled quietly as dark eyes glanced at the auburn-haired woman next to him for a brief moment. “I am trying to be positive but recruiting is not going to be easy. The city is full of men whore are either too old or too young. We cannot put a sword in the hands of a man that can barely walk anymore nor a boy that yet has to know a thing about life!”

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If I owed a dollar for every time someone called me an idiot, I’d be screwed. We live in France.

D’Artagnan (via incorrectmusketeersquotes)