The repeated slam of metal on metal echoed through the workshop; another sward to be finished, another night of no sleep. I would have believed myself to have grown accustomed to such noises at this point: growing up with them as it were. And yet, when a project went unfinished I went without sleep. It was a hard job, and mighty in its undertaking, and yet my father pushed on, always dependable. He was a blacksmith, his swards of the highest caliber. He could fetch a pretty penny for his craft, but alas, he made next to nothing. Do not misunderstand, he has made what I would guess, thousands of swards in his life, and yet he does not demand pay for the most of them. No, he supplied the only people he felt worthy enough in France to duel swards; the musketeers.

He had been one when his body allowed, too this day I hear stories of the glory days, and how he was a force to be reckoned with. But as his character has always been, stubborn as a mule, he refused to completely be put out of the game, and spent the rest of his life after that fatal day, making sure the men in blue were always well kept in artillery. He supplied anything they needed: swards, knives, guns, bullets, anything that could kill a man he crafted with the utmost care.

And so, here he was pounding away at yet another device of death, and I couldn't help but smile. It sounds twisted perhaps, but that sound always reassured me that everything would be alright, that he was supplying those who would protect us, and that we would always be protected. The current and most prominent of the musketeers were close to my father, all three, adding a fourth some four years ago, came to him for much more than weapons. Guidance and wisdom were always high on the list along with crafted steal, and their visits had been constant since before I could remember; especially after mother was killed. They came bringing anything they could, at least once a week if not more. That had started when I was a child, nine years of age, some twelve years ago now, and the visits never waned, unless of course they were on a mission. Even so, the first stop, besides getting themselves plastered, was to come and have dinner, regaling my father with their great tales of adventure.

They were family, plain and simple. We all cared for one another in ways that any normal family would do, though we were a patchwork of sorts. All of them at one point came seeking my woman's intuition and insight about the opposite sex, and they taught me sword play and cunning. My father would sit back with feigned disapproval, and we would chuckle at his calloused but teasing comments and snipes.

That's why whenever I heard the pounding of my father's work, I felt protected. Because I knew that meant one, if not all four, would be there by morning. And who could harm us if the three musketeers were by our side?

I learned the answer to that question much too soon.

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By some miracle I had fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning. The sun had yet to rise, but the tell-tale pitter patter told me it was to be another stormy day. A small upturn of my lips and I was stretching my hands over my head as I let out a contented sigh. I never slept much, but when I did, I felt better than I had in ages, and so it was today.

It was only after swinging my legs over the side of my bed that I noticed something very important: the clanging had stopped.

The sword was not done, I had seen the state it ws in before I retired for the night, and it was no where near completion. Something was wrong, I could feel it.

Slowly I took hold of the sword hanging merely for decoration on my wall, and slowly crept towards my door, listening for anything besides rain drops hitting the tin roof.

Muffled voices met my ears in what sounded to be an argument. I continued my journey down the dark hall, bringing to mind the mental map I had made from years of walking the same halls.

"Perhaps we should wake Avanya?"

"No! You leave my daughter out of this!" My foolishness had done me in, as I had paused to strain my ears listening; I had failed to notice the man behind me. he quickly locked my arms to the side of my body and I dropped the sword with little choice.

"Let go of me! What the hell are you doing in my house!" my voice was thick, as I tried to cover my fear with anger.

"General," the man holding me in a crushing grip dragged me into the small living room and presented me before his commander.

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as I recognized the man almost instantly.

"General Mephius?" the man that stood so threateningly before me was the son of the general of the musketeers, or at least he was in the days of my father. Mephius was nearly my father's age now, and they had been dear friends from what I recall of my father's stories. He was a common character in my younger years, but I had not laid eyes on him in ages.

"My word how she's grown, hasn't she Grimaud? How quickly they go from children," his advances towards me made a very unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach and I knew why I hadn't seen him in ages. His eyes were dark with mischief and calamity. He looked positively mad. "To beautiful women." His hand found my face and he gently caressed my cheek. I looked at him attempting courage but did not know what to feel. He was trusted here; he knew of my father's secrets and had been a very stable presence after mother died. Just as quickly as he had been kind, he turned vile, throwing his head back in my father's direction and he advanced like a predator.

"You know much of women don't you?!" He nearly spat the words in papa's direction, and the anger and rage I heard shook me to the bone. "You took her from me! You stole my love, and then you gave her nothing of what she deserved!" his hand connected hard and the resounding crack had me screaming for him to stop. I shook violently against the hold on me, but the hands were steady. My heart felt as if it were bursting out of my chest as I called to my father over and over again.

"You took her from me and then you killed her!" the rage blew, and he began a thorough accost on my father. It felt like eternity before he stop, and when he looked back at me, blood covered his person, his eyes a dark red illuminated by the lit fire close by.

"I want you to see your father for what he truly is. A coward!" he grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. Blue eyes met my brown and he looked tired, defeated, and then I saw the sorrow. My chest constricted and I knew he was telling me goodbye. I froze on spot and my eyes left those clouded blue to watch as the general withdrew his sword, one my father had made for him.

"If there was one good thing about you, it was your skills as a blacksmith," his twisted smile sent a shiver down my spine, and the crony holding me tightened his grip. "I want you to know that your bastard child watched you die, and I want you to know I will have my way with her before I leave her here to rot," my father began to struggle as the reality of his words set in, but before I could blink the cold steel pressed firmly against his throat, and the world froze.

It felt like hours, watching the blade slice deeply into the confines of my only true family's neck. The only thing I could hear was the pounding of my heart, and a screech that I would later associate came from my own throat.

When the general had ripped through, one side to the other, blood was everywhere. All over me all over the living room, it stuck to everything in its wake, and I could smell the bitter scent in my nostrils. My eyes found blue, but they were nothing that I was used to. Dark and empty, I looked into the eyes that raised me, loved me, eyes that I held nothing but pure adoration for.

I was no longer worried of how I looked to anyone in the room, as I only remained calm for the sake of my flesh and blood. Now that he was nothing more than those two things, I broke.

"Sir… she's giving me quite the time," I heard the general's man say. A part of me smirked at that, and I continued my tirade. Screaming and bucking, kicking anything in my leg's reach, screeching at the top of my lungs. I saw the blow before I felt it, but when I did I wish I hadn't. I was dropped unceremoniously to the hard wooden floor, and cracked my eyes just enough to see those leering red eyes staring down at me.

"I told your father I would have my way with you. I cannot simply go back on such a word, what kind of man would that make me?" his sneer would have frightened me more had I not been falling into unconsciousness.

The sudden slap I felt hit my face and the biting cold hitting my once covered legs awoke me awareness and I struggled once more before all strength left me. I saw his dirty face come closer to mine before I felt lips and teeth connect with my neck. I whimpered in distaste and I felt him chuckle.

"You should be honored to be taken by such a man. You are a mere bastard child, living in the woods, not family, barely any money. But me, ah, I am a general; I have anything given to me simply by a word. Be willing and perhaps I will take you back with me. I need a new whore anyhow," his jeer enraged me, and gathering what little wit I had left, I spit with all my might. His displeased look quickly turned into unchecked rage, and he sneered down at me.

"I will make you regret that!" and all went black.

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Cold, biting, blinding and terribly cold, that was the only thing my brain could register. I felt numb in some places, aching in others. I had no strength to lift myself, and it was with great terror that I began to hear muffled sounds: voices. I could not make out intelligent speech, but something resonated with me: I knew this voices. Didn't i? I had heard them countless times in my life. They made me feel… secure? Safe, protected? Who could provoke such a strong sense of security within me, after all that has happened? I believe if I could have bit my lip and caused it to bleed I would have. If I could shake from sorrow and rage, I would have. If my eyes could open and release the tears I could feel pushing tightly up against my lids, I would have. But I could not, and so I sat there, soreness awakening my sense of pain as I recalled what had happened: the general's accost on my father, slitting his throat plainly before me, calling for me to be his whore and then… all the violence. Two things were taken from me in such short time: my father, and my innocence.

"Avanya!" my brain began to understand what the voices had been calling, and I found it to be a strangled version of my name. It was coated thickly with emotion, the same I would most likely find my voice coated in if I ever were to speak again.

"Avanya!" it was a desperate cry now, one of great sorrow, and I heard he who possessed the voice to be full of fear.

"I've found her!" a voice called, it less so covered with emotion, but it was still obvious that it was there.

"D'Artagnan fetch her a blanket, she lies uncovered," this voice was angry, it held a bite that worried me so. I had heard such a tone the last time I had been conscious and it had not turned out well. I could do nothing when hands gently rolled me to my side, pulling my face from the damp ground, and I realized then it was pouring rain. The cold water pellets assaulted my skin and chilled me to the bone. A hand gently touched my face and I flinched from pain. I felt the swollen skin hiss in disagreement to being touched.

"Avanya, can you hear me? Open your eyes, can you look at me?" a voice was firm but held a gentle tone, and I tried to comply with the voice's requests. Slowly I felt my eyelids creek open just as a felt cloth draped over my freezing person. Slowly my eyes ran from the arm cradling my head gently to the face and eyes that it belonged to.

"Athos?" my voice cracked, but I felt relief come rushing in as I felt myself break all over again. His face was stony, but as always, his eyes told a very different story. They looked relieved, enraged, and sorrowful. The myriad of emotion swirling in succession was overwhelming and I looked away.

"We need to get her somewhere warm. She will die of illness before the sun comes up," I felt a pair of hands gingerly pull me up, then gently curl under the crook in my knees and encircle my back. I was pressed into a warm chest and I sluggishly draped my arms around his neck, pressing my head into the spot where his neck met his shoulders.

Before I lost consciousness once more, I heard soft words flutter down to my ear as I felt lips gently press to my temple. "You're safe now, I'll protect you. I promise," and I was lost in black once more.