The Mousetrap

### Summary

At Etienne's final recruitment destination, he comes to meet the intriguing d’Alençon twins. An intellectual game of cat and mouse unfolds as he attempts to bring them to his side...

Ever since he was summoned before Richelieu and the blades were reformed by the order of the Cardinal, l'Armand had woken feeling reinvigorated, alive once more and with a sense of purpose. The cocks seemed to crow more vigorously, the bells seemed to ring louder and the first rays of the sun that bathed over Paris made it glisten. So far, Etienne had been successful in recruiting several candidates to the shadow guard. His ward had of course joined the cause out of a mix of reasons, including his own gratification to l'Armand and a wish to repay him for the years gone by. Two of the most infamous thieves of the nefarious Court of Miracles had agreed to at least hear the old soldier out at a future date, though more under veiled threat than through their own good will. And while he had been unsuccessful in convincing the comte La Fontaine to rejoin the ranks, he had come away with a unexpected compromise, the comte's daughter, and a skilled fencer in her own right. Now all that remained was the final appointment. While Richelieu had forbidden l'Armand from taking a pick of the King's best men, an advantage he had been given upon the original formation, the Cardinal had given the captain two recommendations; a set of twins, and his own godchildren to boot. While had had not gone into detail as to their use to the blades, Etienne had been given the impression that they were both highly educated, trained and would offer a great amount if sought out. The twins were the children of the duc and duchesse Francis and Amélie d’Alençon, a well known and respected noble family with close ties to the King himself. l'Armand was familiar with the two, and had in his past life exchanged words of courtsey with both on several occasions, but could not say that he was overly knowledgeable as to their conduct or personal lives. There had always been rumours that the duchesse was in fact a spy to Richelieu himself, but if every rumour in Paris was to be believed then there would be no more divison of truth and lies within the city. Etienne had also come to meet the twins on the occasion they accompanied the parents, though even before the blades has been disbanded was the last he had seen or heard from the family overall. He scarcely even remembered their names, let alone what their appearances entailed. Though not solidified in his mind, the d’Alençon estate was located to his recollection on Rue de Rivoli, adjacent with Palais des Tuileries, the Louvre and many other dwellings of court-affiliated nobility.

l'Armand stared at the entrance to the estate as her arrived, a grand marvel that mixed both modern and past Parisian architecture, no doubt with developments made on it as the property had been in the ownership of the d’Alençon family spanning back generations. Beholding the magnificence, coupled with that of his recent visit to the comte La Fontaine's own splendorous residence bought into Etienne's mind just how little he came from in comparison to those around him. While the l'Armand family had been part of the nobility of Paris since the times of his forebearers gone past centuries, they had always been a military family first, not one of grandiose wealth and display. While l'Armand had certainly never known poverty or desperate financial hardship, his own estate paled in comparison to these bastions of the elite of France. Making his way into the courtyard once had has passed and cleared his entry and purpose with the gate guards, he was greeted as he was before in La Fontaine's property, by a valet, who took his horse, while Etienne made his way to the estate entrance. He removed his hat as he approached the doors, opened for him before he entered a grand hall, seeing several servants making their way about, and one who gave off the air of a steward in front of him. He accordingly gave a low bow to the man.

“Greetings monsieur. Captain Etienne du l'Armand, here on behalf of His Eminence Cardinal Richelieu to seek an audience with monsiuer and madamoiselle d’Alençon.” The man snootily looked him up and down, as if to gauge his character and trustworthiness. It was why Etienne had refused to have servants of different position in his employ, as he found that the more in way of title they were given, the more insufferable and pompous they became.

“Greeting monsiuer.” he rasped in a velveteen voice, dripping with unenthusiasm. “I apologise for the inconvenience but both the duc and duchesse are at current absent from the estate on matters of important business. It is with regret I shall have to ask you to visit once more upon their return.” He went to turn away from Etienne, as if lazily discarding him like an old glove. Etienne however, cleared his throat in emphasis, causing the man to return his gaze to the older gentleman, though still with the same soured look upon his face.

“Forgive me monsieur for the mistaken identity, but I was in fact hoping to speak with seigneur Jean and demoiselle Joan, the heirs to the d’Alençon name if I am to believe.” The servant sighed in what could only be taken as rudeness. No doubt he though the captain was wasting his self-important time and the opportunity to assert his dominance over the lesser members of the d’Alençon house staff.

“With apologies once more monsieur.” The last word was spoken with a clear tone of patronisation. “But both seigneur and la demoiselle d’Alençon are also preoccupied at present, and will be unable to greet you in accordance." l'Armand was tired of the game at play. He posed his question with politeness, but with a blunt tone inferring disbelief in the notion.

“And are they also absent from the estate?” He could tell he was riling the steward, who's face was steadily contorting at his authority being challenged.

“No monsieur, but they are otherwise engag.....” l'Armand now interrupted the man.

“Then I request that they be informed that a Captain l'Armand of the King's musketeers is here to gain an audience with them, on a matter of some importance.” At this point, the steward knew he was facing off against a man of substance, not another in the long line of entitled puffed-up nobles who could throw tantrums but were unable to stand their ground against being refused.

“Very good monsieur. If you would care to follow my colleague, who will direct you to main drawing room, I will see to if that the seigneur and la demoiselle are made aware of your presence.” He loudly snapped his fingers, and a nearby servant ambled over, with confusion and fear in his eyes, likely thinking he was going to be reprimanded, with Etienne guessed was a common occurrence with the d’Alençon's steward. “Henri, please escort the captain to the main drawing room to wait while I have our le patrons disturbed from their activities.” The servant named Henri bowed to the captain, with a meek expression now on his face, before gesturing him to follow. Etienne entered into the large drawing room upon Henri opening the door for him.

“Merci monsieur.” he spoke, bowing his head to the servant.

“Plea...please wait a moment in here monsieur, while the seigneur and la demoiselle are made aware of your visit.” With that, he hurriedly exited the room, no doubt in fear of being reprimanded for lingering. Etienne looked around the room, full of various niceties and displays of wealth, as with any noble dwelling trying to outdo once another in displays of opulence. His thoughts turned to what he would say to the twins upon their arrival, without revealing too much initially. He also hoped they would not be escorted by the estate steward, or even worse that the man himself would listen in on the conversation. Etienne outranked the steward by miles in the pecking chain, and yet the man had spoken to someone both his senior in age and status like he was Parian muck that had made his way onto his shoe. Alone with his thoughts, Etienne was free to speak, muttering under his breath. 'Prick.'

"No, no. OK! I yield, enough!" Jean rolled his eyes as the soldier retreated before him and knelt on the ground, placing his rapier upon it. The young man was annoyed, he had expected to finally find a practice partner that could at least keep up with him for a time at the tavern near the Musketeer barracks. But no, the soldier before him was no musketeer and his swordplay was abysmal. All in all, it had been a waste of time and wasting time was something Jean despised. He lets his eyes wander over the man kneeling, wondering what to do next when he suddenly just walked off back towards the patio section of the estate, leaving his opponent to look up curiously. As he reached the patio, Jean grabbed a clean linen and began to wipe sweat from his arms and neck, sheathing his rapier and then snagging a glass of wine. His eyes watched as his sparring partner finally ended up standing up, the soldier glancing around in shame even as the servants out and about in the yard ignored him. The poor lad didn't even bother going back through the house, he simply ran off to who knew where.

Jean sighed again, finishing his wine and pouring another glass. He sat down and knelt forward, massaging his temples, and then figured he might as well finish the next treatise as final practice for the hour. He'd be back at it after supper. He had just started when the steward of the estate came strutting outside looking like his usual self-important person. Jean groaned as the eyes of the steward found him and the insufferable man started his way. Ever the noble, Jean plastered a fake smile on his face and stood just as the steward reached him.

"Ah, *young* Master. A Captain l'Armand is here to see you, he states he is of the King's Musketeers. I have placed him within the main drawing room so that you may visit with him at your leisure." From the man's tone, Jean could tell that the steward would prefer later and to make the man wait but Jean would not insult a musketeer with such.

"I will see him now. Go and ensure that my sister is prepared and then go to the kitchens and prepare something to eat for my guest. Thank you." Jean had a simple smile on his face after he spoke, his body posture remaining the same while his eyes spoke to the man before him that such orders were just that, orders. The steward obviously wished to object, but realized his position and the attitude of the noble before him and simply bowed and turned around. Jean waited until the man re-entered the house before letting out a breath and shaking his head. 'Prick,' he muttered to himself and began buckling on his weapon. He then grabbed his coat and placed it upon himself as well. If he was going to meet a musketeer he would ensure that he was well dressed for the occasion. His coat was a wine colored item of expensive cloth, padded perfectly to serve as decent armor by itself and featuring golden engravings. A heavy fencing cape flowed from the left shoulder and half hid the sheathed rapier at the left hip. Finally, as Jean entered the house he took his plumed hat off the hat stand where it had been placed before the spar and then made his way into the estate proper.

By all accounts the place was a maze, and if Jean hadn't more or less lived in the place his whole life he would be hopelessly lost. Stories of new servants sometimes wandering into a wing and not being found until the end of the day were common and all of it was filled with expensive nothings meant to make the rooms look good. Jean personally found it tacky and gaudy and preferred to spend most of his time in his own rooms or outside. The grandiose place had simply always struck Jean as impersonal, like he was living the life of his father who had been the one that purchased all the expensive nothings and to whom appearance mattered far more than anything else. Eventually however, Jean did make it to the front of the estate, where the drawing room was located. He waited just before it, leaning against a doorway, craning his head to the right and letting his eyes scan the walkway he had just walked. He would wait for his sister before greeting their guest, which if you knew Jean, wouldn't surprise you. It was uncommon for the twins to do anything without the other in all honestly. The fact that they weren't together to receive the summons was a miracle in of itself. But, Joan hadn't cared to watch her brother dismantle and embarrass yet another challenger and had instead retreated.

Jean chuckled as he remembered the last interaction and the last young man who had seemed all so confidant. Upon being beaten and doing the regular walk of shame, the defeated swordsman had espied Joan chuckling at him and had challenged *her* to a duel. The fool had then gotten twin defeats and Jean had yet to see him in any brothel or inn in Paris since. Jean was brought out of his memories as the sound of footsteps grew closer and his head craned to the right more. Surely, that would be Joan now.

Dark sable hair whipped like a flag as hooves pounded over the field that was no more than a few hundred yards or so from the house that Joan had escaped. She had no wish to watch bored as her brother dismantled the random soldier from Louis' Army. Granted Louis was unlikely to know him and knowing that Joan doubted that he had even a slim chance of beating Jean. It had grown tedious indeed to watch her brother fence, so she rode Imp. Imp was a deep inky black Andalusian stallion that was spoiled rotten by his mistress. He wasn't vicious, just picky in who he liked and tolerated. He liked Jean and the head groom, while he tolerated Joan's parents well enough.

Coming up to the fence that bordered the field Joan urged Imp on to jump the fence. She felt Imp respond and put on a burst of speed as he raced toward the fence. The minor adjustments she made were perceptible only to the most advanced of riders. Clearing the fence Joan laughed as Imp danced proudly to a stop before the Steward. Imp flattened his ears and lengthened his neck to bite freezing as Joan tightened her knees.

"Back up Imp." Imp backed up with a snort of contempt. Joan smiled sweetly, saccharin her eyes narrowing on the whip thin Steward Durand. "I would hope that you have a *very* important reason to be in my way so that I do not regret letting Imp have at you Durand."

"Captain l'Armand is here to see you, he states he is of the King's Musketeers. I have placed him within the main drawing room so that you may visit with him at your leisure. Your brother has been informed and told me to make sure you were prepared and to go to the kitchens to have something prepared." Durand stated blandly. Nodding, Joan jerked her head to dismiss Durand who bowed and marched to the kitchen. Smirking, Joan watched him go. 'Limp prick.' When he was out of sight Joan walked Imp back to the stables.

"Laurent?" Seeing the gentle head groom she smiled. "My brother and I have a visitor, who is already…" She tilted her head. "Intrigued him. Normally I would let the stranger cool his heels but this is not about me. Well not just me."

"Understood mademoiselle. I will take care of Imp."

"Thank you Laurent." Joan replied as she swung off Imp and softly grabbed his bridle. "Behave." Striding to the house she pulled off her gloves, striking them lightly against her thigh that was covered in peacock blue velvet breeches which matched her open justaucorps, that was displaying the snow white silk shirt with lace spilling down the front from under a black velvet bow and down an inky black waistcoat. She looked down at her black hessians and noted they weren't muddy, just dusty and shrugged as she came around the corner to see her twin. "Should we keep him waiting longer or is this outfit alright by you?" She indicated herself with a graceful sweep of her hand turning the lace to show off her long fingers, absent of jewelry. Raising an eyebrow at her brother's look and gesture to the drawing room, Jean was either too used to her dressing in men's clothing or he was uncharacteristically impatient. Joan smirked looking forward to solving that mystery later as she glided down the hall to the main drawing room. "Pardon the tardiness of my brother and myself Captain l'Armand. We were not expecting guests. However, can we help you?" Joan approached the Captain as if she were the heir rather than her brother.

Only a few minutes had passed as Etienne had been anyalysing a select few of the items in the room. The duc's hoard was impressive even in one room, let alone imagining what other treasures were to be found within the whole estate. He was admiring an antique globe when the doors opened. Under normal circumstances, a servant would have announced the arrival of their master, but l'Armand saw only a near identical pair enter, both dressed in finery, and what seemed to be men's clothes. As far as he recalled and had been told even on his arrival, the d’Alençon twins were male and female, were they not? The only real distinguishable difference between the two was the length of hair, and in an age where it was more common than not for men to wear their hair long....... No, he was sure of it. He bowed to them as they entered, clutching his hat to his chest in polite gesture. His recollection was confirmed though, as one of the siblings apologised on their behalf, with what was an obvious female voice, and could only be Joan, the sister. Odd that she was the first to speak, as well as ask him as to how they could assist him, and not her brother. Surely especially with parents absent, he would have been the head of the house? And what would her parents have thought in regards to her gadabouting around in a mans attire? The dynamic between the pair was certainly an intriguing one, especially when it came to the sister of the pair.

“My thanks for receiving me at such short notice mademoiselle. I was made very aware that I was disturbing activities that the two of you were engaged in, and offer my humble apologies for any inconvenience.” He waited until the two were seated and he too was then invited to do so, never being one to make assumptions on manners or societal faux pas. “As for my visit, I am here at the behest, or rather the recommendation of His Eminence the Cardinal, who I also believe to be your godfather. His Eminence speaks highly of both of you, and of the fine young man and woman you have both become. I am also somewhat familiar with the duc and duchesse d’Alençon, having had the opportunity to meet and speak with them on several occasions past, as well as yourselves, though I very much doubt you would remember such an event, having only been children at the time. And seeing you both with my own eyes, it is clear how much you have both grown. But I do confess, I have not come here for a social visit.” He was aware that what he would be revealing next was of such a fragile nature that they could not risk being overheard, and so stood from his seat. “With your permission, if I may.” He made his way to the closed door, and placed an eye to the keyhole. Unsurprised, he saw a blurred image of a close up figure on the other side, no doubt the same steward eavesdropping. Opening the door with a sudden force, he heard a cry of surprise, and revealed exactly who he had thought the secret listener would be. Though evidently flustered, the steward tried to regain his composure at the captain's surprise move.

“Ah, monsieur l'Armand. I was merely.....coming to inform yourself and the two masters that a spread of various breads, fruits, cold meats and pate is being prepared for you, along with wine and should be arriving from the kitchens momentarily.” Etienne had lived long enough and met too many to not know when someone was lying to him. Though to cause any type of scene and call the lurker out was of no benefit to his being here. Instead, he put on a fake smile.

“Truly thoughtful of you to take time out of your busy schedule monsieur, I imagine you are a very busy man. Alas, a spread will not be required. I do not intend to stay long, and only ask for a few minutes of the monsieur and mademoiselle's time. Please, feel free to return to your duties.” The last sentence was said in a honey-sickly tone, that to anyone with any knowledge of pitch and vocal cues, was a veiled threat and in this case, a warning to the steward to cease his spying. He could feel the man's pride being shattered as he tried to recompose himself, before he simply bowed.

“Very good monsieur.” He then walked away, immediately snapping at another servant and chivvying them along. Etienne returned into the drawing room closed the doors, making sure they were secure before he took his seat once more.

“My apologies. I have to make sure in this instance, that we are not listened in on, for what I am about to tell you must be kept between the two of you and myself only.” Having experience with reading people, he could already tell the twins were intrigued as to the prospect of what would unfold. “My name, as was surely given to you, is Etienne du l'Armand, and while I do rank as a captain, I have provided you with a slight deception. I once was of His Majesty's musketeers, but am no longer, and have not served as one in the last decade. In truth, I am an agent of His Eminence , and have been called upon to serve him once more, to protect France, the King and his people. But not in the ways of the musketeers, or the city guard.” Explaining the next part was always the hardest, especially giving it any form of credibility without proof to his words. “I must ask again, before I continue, that whatever is said within this room is kept solely between ourselves. Would I have you words as to that?”

The look that Jean gave his sister was more or less one of knowing and one of amusement but Joan would also detect the exasperation that he had said to be prepared. In all actuality it was probably better for the Musketeer Captain to see them how they were and as such, Jean figured he would simply not put on an act. Etienne would see them for who they were and draw his own conclusions.

As such he didn't stop his sister from entering first or taking charge of the conversation. He merely walked in at her side and sat down near the door, leaning forward and piercing the Musketeer with a face that would difficult to decipher. The heir had a blank stare, eyes that shown with intelligence and that were constantly analyzing but whose every action seemed to have a weight behind them, as if they were thought out a few times or had a hidden meaning. Unlike usual times he did not put on his uncaring façade which may or may not be evident to his sister that he was actually intrigued. Catching the look that her brother cast her way Joan smirked.

"A Capitan not of the Musketeers but working for our godpapa...interesting." Sharing a look with Jean that communicated the intrigue she raised a brow and gave a moue as if to say. "What is the harm?" Seeing the curious look that Jean gave back to her Jean composed her features to a winning smile. Before Joan spoke however, Jean said only a single phrase, forcefully and assuredly.

"If the Steward listens in again you may kill him." He then fell silent. Joan simply smirked and then began her next phrase, eyes glinting.

"You have our silence. Speak your peace. Unless you are here to propose an engagement. That I will not appreciate and will tell you I would rather eat your hat." Joan's tone was light and playful with an edge of steel like a well honed blade. The curious look lasted all of two microseconds, but Etienne was a perceptive man and would have noticed the strong façade shatter for those microseconds. After, Jean would simply look back to the not musketeer Captain and await his answer.

The pair were certainly, as Richelieu had put it, unique. Never before had l'Armand observed such a symbiotic relationship between siblings. It was if the two shared not only an appearance, but also a brain. The forked sarcasm seemed to bounce from one to the other, making light of matters that would have been considered by any other of a serious nature. It was especially when Jean casually seemed to give a license to kill that Etienne realised Richelieu may have sent him here for a reason. It was seemingly not enough that he had been broken down and ridiculed by the man, but that he must serve penance for the opportunity, by humouring the madness of the Cardinal's own kin.

“Mademoiselle, I assure you that my intention is anything but on matters of engagement. Besides, I would have nothing to offer you, with myself having lived your lifespan nearly three times over now, and having no heirs of my own to suggest a betrothal to.” The two, especially the fairer of the twins had so far displayed a haphazard and even chaotic approach to the engagement with their guest, but Etienne was not so blind to see that beneath the charade, they were sharp, analytic and most important of all, dangerous. It was no wonder they were so closely linked to Richelieu. “But I thank you for you agreed silence on the matter. As explained, I once served in the King's musketeers, a career spanning over two decades. In the time, I did indeed rise to the rank of a captain, a position which I took with both humility and an ironclad duty. Ten years ago I was approached by His Eminence to form and lead a company of men, of my fellow musketeers. While the musketeers protect the King and France itself for everyone to see, the Cardinal had need of capable men who would protect her, and all her interests from the shadows. Ours was a game of deeds done behind the scenes, eliminating threats unseen to most but that cast a greater shadow than those at face value. We would not be rewarded for our triumphs, we would gain no fame nor wealth for our services. But we did so knowing our work protected France in her darkest hours. I am sure you are aware that to be a musketeer in the first place is to dedicate your life to King and country, and give your life in turn without a moment's hesitation. This was no different, in fact maybe even more demanding of a life sentence.” There was a knock at the door, with Etienne instinctively rising in response, a hand going to his pappenheimer. An unknown voice to him spoke from the other side with clarity, but his voice tinged with a slight fear.

“Seigneur, demoiselle, the refreshments you ordered.” Etienne relaxed his grip, and waited for the masters of the house to receive what turned out to be a small banquet that had been prepared for the three. Silver trays carried a vast selection of bread, cheeses, cuts of cured meats, various slices and whole fruits, several variations of pâté , biscuits, all accompanied by several glasses and jugs of wine. The feast was laid out on the table at which they had been sat to conduct the meeting. Once the dishes had been served, the two servants quickly left the room, once more closing the doors behind them. Etienne had almost forgotten how noble houses would make the largest extravagances out of the smallest visits. Had he not explained to the snooping steward that he would not be requiring such a display as he only intended to stay momentarily? But as always, the old gentleman was not without his manners.

“A truly generous offering on account of such little significance of my being here mes hôtes.” Though he had explained as to why he would not be requiring such a thing, he could not deny that the food and drink before them looked tempting. Though he was not without money, he could not remember the last time he had seen, let alone eaten such a simple yet so elegantly nourishing spread. And neither could he recall at which last point he had eaten. Having always been beyond dedicated to his work and duty, it was not uncommon in the l'Armand estate for Gaspard to remind his master that he was not above the nature of man, and did indeed require fuel for his body. “Perhaps a small bite to eat before I entail you with further details.”

Sweeping a hand at the spread Joan turned toward the double doors of the sitting room and taking out her kerchief she tied it around the handles. The Captain had something interesting to say and she was not about to have another interruption.

"Your name seems familiar but not in a rumor type of way. I will have to think of why. It will come to me later I am certain. I hope everything is to your liking l'Armand, unfortunately if it is not I will not be calling the servants back. I prefer no interruption for things that concern King and country. No need to dance around the issue. I prefer those who have requests not keep me in the dark. How can I determine if I can assist if you do not unburden your conscience?" Sitting across from the Captain that wasn't, Joan glanced at Jean quickly and smirked popping a berry in her mouth. She turned the smirk back to l'Armand and raised her eyebrow and drummed her long nails on the table.

*Tick tick tick tick.*

*Tick tick. tick tick.*

*Tick. Tick tick tick.*

A head tilt, and a single raised eyebrow was all that Jean gave the man as the not Captain began speaking. It wasn't a predatory look, nor even playful. If anything, Jean's stare could be described as cold and calculating, taking in the information and analyzing it at breakneck speed. He didn't move a muscle however, his leaned forward posture remaining the exact same as he had when first sitting. Only his eyes moved, slowly and not darting about as if Jean was quite comfortable and relaxed. Jean said nothing, letting Joan take the reigns and communicating just briefly through their shared bond. Joan would get bursts of intrigue once again, along with a feeling of being impressed at the mans words. Curiosity was there, but it was much more subdued.

When the knock came, once again the eyes of the heir d'Alençon looked to the bearer of food. He himself had eaten already but politeness dictated he take something. Jean allowed Etienne to take something first before finally moving and proving that he was not a gargoyle and placing a series of fruit and meats upon a plate which he brought back to his seat. He took a single bite of fruit and then smirked at Joan's words.

The twins heads both looked at each other at the same time and then both turned identical smirks to their guest and rose their eyebrows. Jean didn't add his nails, instead popping another berry into his mouth.

At the twins' invitation, Etienne helped himself to a few slices of salted ham, along with some cheese and biscuits, ending with a hunk of bread and neatly spreading it with a goose pâté. After taking several nibbles, he set his plate down to continue. In the meanwhile, he had been observing the two and their mannerisms, behaviours, expressions. There was something of a devil in the both of them. Though they conducted themselves with the utmost profession and poise, he could not lie that he almost felt akin to a mouse facing a pair of cats, toying with their prey. It really was no wonder Richelieu had taken an interest in them. Between the Cardinal's own machinations and the rumours swirling their family of underhanded dealings and secret rendezvous, the d'Alençon siblings had truly mastered the art of intrigue. While they could no doubt be valuable assets to the cause, there was an underlying danger surrounding the both of them.

“As I was saying. We took on various different tasks, from secret escorts to delivering messages of state confidentiality. The few who came to know of us thought of us as the Cardinal's henchman, a lowly band of assassins and thugs who would route out his enemies, but a further misconception could not be had. We never shared the likes of the comte de Rochefort, although on occasion we would have cause to defend ourselves and shed blood. We were successful in neutralising many a disaster from happening, whether they would have been a physical threat or caused embarrassment to the King. However, our downfall came at the siege of La Rochelle. On a mission behind enemy lines, we were betrayed by one of our own, and all but one of my colleagues and brothers-in-arms perished that day. Though the siege was ultimately successful and Louis retained catholic rule, my fate was not so fortuitus. I was summoned before the Cardinal, and as the leader of the band dubbed 'The Cardinal's Blades', the axe fell upon me. Being a clandestine order, Richelieu could not publicly admit to having ties to us and to not have foreseen the betrayal from within, and so I was stripped of my military titles, my accomplishments were stricken from records. Since then, I have lived in the shadow of my previous life, until days ago. I was summoned before His Eminence once more and asked to reform the blades. There is a great to threat to France from behind the scenes brewing, and it is not one that can be fought with great armies and sieges. Alas, I cannot rely on the gathering of my past colleagues, much as I would wish nothing more be so, and I have had to turn to other measures, and take what I can get. I have recruited several others already, some from more unrefined sources than others. But now, on recommendation of His Eminence, I come to you seeking aid.” As with others he had spoken to, it was too dangerous to divulge the full details in such a place. They had after all, already experienced being spied upon by mere servants, and interrupted at crucial moments. No, the true meaning of his seeking aid would have to be discussed at another time, where they would go unheard. He considered his proposition carefully. “I cannot speak of the full details of the task the blades face here. There are....too many eyes and ears around, and this information must remain entirely confidential between only those of us who are involved. Just know for now, that it would be to protect not only the King, but France and all of her people. Everyone you know and cherish is at stake.” He hoped had done enough to pique their interest by this point. His options were few after all. “If it pleases you, and this conversation has done enough to convince your good selves of the severity at which the Cardinal requires results, pay visit to my estate on Rue de Épreiver, when the bells strike midnight. There I will be holding a gathering and unveiling the full nature of our mission to those that answer the call. And I must insist that you come alone.”

Jean couldn't help it, his mind wandered as the man spoke of his time working as a blade and the history of his exploits were in fact impressive. Jean had at one point considered even trying to become a Musketeer, and even now it had remained in the back of his head. He did spend quite a a bit of time at the brothel near the barracks and had sparred quite a few of the men that served. He still had a dream of crossing blades with the likes of Athos or even their newer recruit d'Artagnan. Both had quite a few stories already attached to their legend and while that wasn't important to Jean, most of the time legends had an inkling of truth, and Jean craved the best so he could be the best. Eventually he looked up, as Etienne was finishing his speech.

"So you take the Cardinals word that we're a good fit for your new team and base that off of a simple conversation such as this? I mean no disrespect, I truly do not, as your service to France and the crown can not be denied, but are you truly that desperate? What exactly do you believe that we offer other than obvious wealth and education." Jean's words were spoken the same way he moved, every single phrase carrying weight. This was the first time that Etienne would have heard his voice, a clear and melodic tenor that somehow felt like it was coming from someone double Jean's age. His eyes were now fully piercing Etienne as the man sat there, and he was unmoving as before. He could remember his mother instructing him to never accept anything without knowing precisely what the other party wanted for it. And knowing what those people wanted most helped that. Thus far Jean could deduce that the man sitting before him was an accomplished soldier, a man who dedicated his life to King and Country and who had probably performed missions just as legendary as the four musketeers and then all of it was lost. It would be logical to assume that Etienne was now determined to get it back. Which meant he needed this to go well. Watching l'Armand as Jean spoke, tossing out the line to see if he could reel in more information from the Captain that was and now isn't Joan's hazel eyes drank in the man. Etienne l'Armand was an older gentleman that had gray hair and his age seemed to touch his features now and then, as if it hung about him like a cloud of smoke. His scar was intriguing; Joan wanted to ask him how he got it just to see if the tale was as good as she imagined.

Joan had to admit during Jean's speech all she could read from l'Armand was polite focus. She and Jean looked at each other and the curious confusion could be felt by both twins, as well as the mild annoyance. He was not getting to the point fast enough. Joan was impatient but kept it underneath the calm façade that she held herself in. Three not so simple questions that Joan doubted that l'Armand would answer. Joan smiled like the cat who'd caught a particularly large mouse.

"Ah but brother what are we but our title, education and wealth? If l'Armand knew what drew him here he would say so. Would you not Captain who is no longer a Captain, and yet is? Richelieu commands him but does not provide funds. That is an obvious need. However if he just wanted funds he would write papa. He says he is here on behest of our godpapa." Joan's contralo velvety tones were a feminine version of her brother's and reminded one of warm cognac and an expensive cigar. "I believe him." She looked over at her brother then back at l'Armand. "Well l'Armand can you answer the questions put to you?" Her tone was rich and humorous as if she doubted that he would answer and Jean would want the man to understand what Pandora's Box he loosed into the world if they accepted. Honestly she preferred that he learn the hard way. It always carried more weight in the lesson. "Bear in mind, neither of us are saying no. My zeal for France is as large as any in Paris and I would put my life on the line to protect her. But I don't know you, you don't know us. You have no idea what we're capable of and are basing everything in the word of someone, who, while I love dearly as a godfather, isn't exactly known as a shining beacon of morality."

Jean fell silent again, looking down and away finally towards the floor and awaited Etienne's answer.

Etienne was all too soon approaching his sixties. To live to such an age was considered a rarity, increasing by tenfold for those active in a military life. Though he had come close to death on several occasions, l'Armand was one of the few he had grown up with or fought alongside not yet in the grave. With a naturally commanding aura and a stoic demeanor, combined with his decades of experience and having witnessed lifetimes of hardship and pain, there was little that rattled him. However, he had clearly come underprepared. While none could doubt his skill in battle, or his commitment to King and country, l'Armand had never been particularly versed in the great game played by his betters. He was a tool to be utilised by those who commanded his allegiance, but the weapons of wit and politics had never been his forte. He was not so arrogant as to never expect questions to his statements, but what was being posed to him made him feel as if he had been hauled to a court martial, raked over the coals while his superiors tried to rip apart his words. He was seeing more of Richelieu in the twins than ever now, with their bladed silvery tongues and ruthless cross-examinations. Whatever they had been taught, and whoever had been their tutors, the two had truly mastered their lessons, even at such a tender age. Their analysis, while immaculately polite spared no quarter. Particularly heavy on Etienne's mind was an observation delivered by the fairer of the two, of how Richelieu commanded Etienne, the Cardinal effectively holding l'Amrand's future and life in his hands, yet would provide no aid whether financial or in manpower. Had Richelieu deliberately steered the captain into the d’Alençon scion's hands as a ploy to beg for their immeasurable resources, to make l'Armand look a fool in front of the Cardinal's proteges? Here he was believing he had been given this second opportunity on grounds of needs of his service and a respect for his skill, yet it seemed as ever that Richelieu was mocking the old soldier, testing the limits to which he would grovel. Raymondin had been astute when he had labelled the Cardinal as a figure of iniquitousness. Even his godchildren seemed to beholden him as unscrupulous. A smoldering anger ascended within him upon realising he had been played. These pair of devils may think themselves beyond reproach and safe to snipe, but he would not be taken for a fool by brats who had yet to suck from their mother's teat while he fought and bled to provide them with the comforts they had lavished in.

“I do not take the Cardinal at his base word, but rather would strive to believe that in His Eminence's wisdom, he has offered a bridge to a solution. I believe he would not have given me your names lest he believed you would be an asset to the cause. I myself am not interested in those unable or unwilling to, as all men should, fight for something greater than themselves and protect those they harbour within their hearts.” There was no anger in his voice, nor animosity, but a clear stance. While he may be many things, the captain was not one to turn from that which he placed his values on. Once a line in the sand was drawn, he would remain a sentinel. “It is true that we are unfamiliar with one another, and have no idea of what the other is capable of.” He stood from his seat, not with great emotion or rush, but in a dignified manner. “That being said, I would very much like to see for myself just what it is His Eminence has so much esteem in you for. If either of you would care to display the skill your godfather spoke of, than may I suggest we adjourn to the training yard?” It was a gamble, but l'Armand hoped the move would stir the twins into action. He did not doubt that they were indeed skilled as Richelieu had spoken of. But he needed to see it for himself, if they were more than simply theory gained from study and the comfort of privilege.

The Twins tipped their heads to the right in synchronization, like birds of prey when watching their dinner in amusement. They smiled, reached for a piece of the same fruit and ate it, all with perfect synchronicity. Without breaking eye contact with l'Armand the twins began to speak.

"Your feathers should not be ruffled by these questions, monsieur." Joan stated, though she knew why. Questions like Jean had asked, though coming from him were harmless and knowledge driven. Were questions that assumed the listener was... mentally deficient comparatively. While that had yet to be determined, and Joan assumed was not the case in l'Armand since he was twenty or thirty years their senior; while unheard of, not impossible to survive natural selection sans intellect. So yes she was aware of the social faux pa but reactions said much more about a person than what they said so she had not stepped in to spare the older man's ego. "My questions were merely based on logic and my further understanding on not only why our godfather sent you, but also what you are expecting us to grant your cause other than additional manpower. It pays to understand exactly what will be your expectations and how we can best serve. Our strengths so to speak and what you expect them to be. Otherwise how are we to form an effective team?"

Jean's words were spoken with that same eerily calm voice. It didn't raise in pitch, didn't sound upset or angry. If anything there was a slight hint of genuine puzzlement and curiosity as to why Etienne was obviously flustered. But Jean, never having once retreated from a challenge, stood as well, slowly and surely as with all his other movements. He gave a low bow of respect and then as he raised, met Etienne in the eye with no fear whatsoever despite the man's obvious experience.

"But, if you wish for a demonstration I will be greatly honored to have the pleasure of crossing swords." He didn't lower his gaze, knowing that his sister would have more words. Which indeed she did. Standing when her brother did and bowing as he did, Joan replied.

Jean is a marvel at fencing. I can hold my own but I prefer a much different style. He does not shoot but I do and I am very familiar with a rifle as well as pistols. I very rarely miss even while mounted; even at a gallop. However, Jean is the fencer.” Collecting a couple of apples Joan gestured to the door. “Please let me lead the way. Oh brother, please collect at least one apple, we’re going to play our favorite game.” She tossed the fruit up and caught it easily. The snap of it connecting with her palm and immediately with her long fingers curling over it was immensely satisfying. Smiling, she walked over and untied her kerchief from the door. “Oh and l’Armand please pull the bell for the servants. They will clear up the rest of what has not eaten. Come along.”

Jean was already picking an apple up, at the same time as his sister and tossed it as she mentioned collecting one. He nods respectfully to the Captain and then follows his sister out and towards the back of the estate and to the same area that he had come for this meeting. Crossing swords with an ex-musketeer. Finally, Jean would have the opportunity. The King's regiment was stingy with who they would fight and as Jean never challenged it wasn't every day Musketeers lined up to test themselves on those they probably saw as below or not worth their time. Excitement and if he was being honest, truly, an honor filled his chest and he counted himself lucky. His mind was already filling with possible styles that Etienne had studied and prepared, and Jean found himself looking forward to fighting someone better than himself, as the best way to improve was through defeat really. And Jean was dedicated to being the best Fencer in the world some day.

Etienne could not deny that the pair had rattled him. Though their pitched questions had been innocuous on the surface, he could not help but feel as if there had been an underlying ridicule, a test of sorts. He felt similar whenever he had spoken to Richelieu. His words were honeyed and that of a gentleman, but always tinged with patronisation, or even a veiled threat. Out of the two, the boy was most certainly like his senior; professional and calm to a fault, yet when he spoke, it almost put one at unease. Nevertheless, they seemed to accept his challenge. But just who was determining who here? The captain had arrived here with the intent, as with the other recruits of quizzing his candidates, gathering their strengths and weaknesses and gauging their worth to the cause. However, from the moment the twins had shown themselves, he had felt under their thumb, as if he was a trapped insect being analysed under a microscope. Though he had now gathered some facts. The two were obviously beyond wealthy and would have come with a merit of resources, and would have received the highest standards of education thanks to just that. But he had now uncovered that Jean was supposedly a prodigy in fencing, and Joan was more inclined towards firearms, as well as an accomplished rider. If nothing else, at least they would theoretically be able to hold their own.
As asked, he rang the bell upon their exit of the drawing room, the patter of feet scurrying across the foyer to attend to every whim, as the three made their way to the d’Alençon's training facilities. No doubt in an estate such as this, they had their own fencing room, but Etienne did not wish to impose on exploring the entire household to fulfill his curiosity.
Once they had stepped outside, it was made clear his opponent was to be Jean only. The girl had mentioned that while she was a dab hand in the art, fencing was not her forte. Even at his age, with his skills and experience two on one should have not been entirely taxing. He took note of Jean's weapon, an exquisitely crafted swept-hilt rapier with black padding and golden detailing, no doubt of Florentine make. After all, the d’Alençon's could clearly afford nothing but the best. Though weapons of such fine make were common to see in the hands of the nobility, it was disappointing to see that so few knew how to actually use such a thing effectively. Throughout his year, Etienne had been asked to humour many the sons of noble houses and provide them a sparring match, only to see that their swordplay was as if they were using a butterknife. But there was promise and what he had heard even today. He pulled his own blade from its scabbard, his trusty pappenheimer. A heavier rapier than those generally used by musketeers, it was both maneuverable and protective, featuring a delicate hilt with a lattice guard plate. Constructed to prioritise practicality over splendour, l'Armand's rapier, like himself, was weathered and had seen better days. But there was nothing he valued more by his side. Cleaving a swift strike through the air, he watched Jean with the eyes of a hawk. There was a deadly serenity in the young man's poise, a battlecalm that was not seen in even some of the most senior musketeers. Of course, it was easy to remain far more calm in a duel than it was to be facing a military engagement, especially one where death was not at stake. But his restrain was impressive nonetheless. Accordingly, he placed himself en garde, holding a third guard. While protecting no lines, it divided the body in two, allowing for swift deflection and rebuke from any angle. Neither man made a move to instigate, showing l'Armand that his opponent was smart. The skilled fencer waited for his enemy to attack, taking advantage of any mistake or poor technique before moving in with an assault of their own. Those who were too eager to go on the offensive were often punished easily. This match was obviously as much of a test of his strengths to Jean as it had been planned to gauge the boy's own. The two circled each other slowly, Etienne noting of Jean's fine footwork, keeping the one in front of the other at all times and no delay to the pattern. With the speed of a snake, almost defiant for his many decades, Eteinne lunged as the young man, but drew back at the last second, a classic feint. There was no haste to block the blow or to retaliate, nor any terror in Jean's eyes at the prospect of the blade that could have ended his life. Etienne was starting to see just how impressive the young heir was.

Having accomplished their original goal, which was to prove that they were far more than met the eye and that they could handle themselves in a situation that may involve politics, Jean, as he walked remained excited for the prospect of the upcoming fight. Etienne had proven to, while still growing flustered, keep his cool and remain on task. Sure, a challenge had been the furthest thing from Jean's mind at the time but it was a nice surprise and Jean knew it would be a good way for the elder to not only see what Jean could offer but also a way for Jean to see just who was leading him. The sacred dance, as Jean called it, could reveal oh so much about the fighter. How did they move, how did they feint, what kind of style did they prefer. All of it was a mirror to personality, a mirror to what the individual found to be their strengths and weaknesses. No one trained and honed weakness, they honed their best traits and brought up other traits to cover the lack. It was the same in fencing, more so even. Everyone had their fighting base, a style of fencing that resounded with them more than anything else. For Jean that style was that of one Girard Thibault. The basis of which used painstaking geometry, logic, and knowledge. It focused on the idea of a mysterious circle spent great detail into realizing the precise geometrical relationships between opposing swordsman at all times. The circle is perfectly proportional to the swordsman's body at all times and all movement is done with that in mind. It was perfect for the analytical and cunning fighter that Jean was.

As they stepped outside, Jena noticed Etienne was taking stock of the weapon the Jean had just unsheathed. It was finely detailed but it was more than a sword to the noble, it was like a second twin. Jean noted Etienne's own preference in blade and nodded as he recognized the pappenheimer. Already, the sacred dance was telling him something of his opponent. The man before him was used to getting things done and wasn't bothered by looking pretty as he did it. A true soldier, a true servant of France, and as Etienne had found out, a true puppet for those in politics.

Jean stepped into his stance, gripping his blade. Etienne may note that Jean's grip was highly different than standard, Jean's ricasso resting upon the index finger and the tip of the thumb resting on the rear quillon. It aligned the blade horizontally as Jean's arm extended. Jean's stance was heavily similar to Thibault's own with slight variation. His posture was upright to allow for fluid and graceful movements while remaining profiled, it was natural and at ease as if welcoming an attack. It was similar to how Jean walked and stood, his fencing stance having taken over his natural walking patterns at a young age. His feet were exactly three inches apart, and at an angle of 45 degrees to one another. Jean uses it for the mysterious circle arrangement, as in Jean's mind there was an imaginary line, placing his back foot perpendicular to it and his front foot angling inward, his weight perfectly distributed on the balls of his feet. Both of his shoulders are held in alignment and fully profiled to Etienne, while his sword arm now extended remained unlocked but also was in alignment with the shoulders. His off arm moved to extend as well but was held pointing down and back. With his stance prepared, Jean had zero issue with the opening of the sacred dance. His eyes never moved from Etienne's form, a cold glimmer of excitement which had put off several of his former sparring mates. As cold as ice, and equally unmoving Jean was not just calm he was almost transcended as if his entire being thrived in being in this position, called out for such sport. As the two circled, Jean was content to allow Etienne to lead. Another example of his economy of motion, never expend energy you didn't need to. It was the basis of his entire style. Allow the first attack, allow the second, deflect the third, and keep them coming. The more they attack, the more tired they are. Jean had all day, preferred all day. The longer he fought the better in his mind. It was invigorating, sustaining, and what he longed for more than anything in his life. And as the circling ended, Jean having barely moved other than his feet adjusting and maneuvering to keep the perfect geometrical position, the first attack came. Jean didn't even meet the opposing blade, merely moving his head at the last second to let the strike pass by him and away. Jean made no move to retaliate, expecting a feint to test his movements. Jean would not give the Captain the satisfaction of revealing anything. Just like his speech, just like his walk, just like his sitting posture Jean was an enigma as a fighter. He deliberately allowed his stance to shift and to show something different. Another style, that of Rocco Bonetti which was supposedly a decent defensive form. But then as the next feint came, Jean showed yet another, and then another. He seamlessly move from style to style, stance to stance all with the signature Thibault focus on the mysterious circle, economy of motion. Fluidly defending via head dodges, sword close parries, and last second engagements. It looked like a dance, as numerous conversations happened in rapidity with Jean all the while remaining unmoved, unchanged, unperturbed. He was deadly calm, in total control of his emotions, his blade, his brain. He adapted over and over and then finally. He had his opponent dead to rights. Etienne was more than talented, Jean was impressed despite his aura of calmness. The man had proven to be the best he had fought in his life in all honesty and Jean wished he had fought the man in his prime.

But, perhaps due to age, perhaps due to the ever-shifting and changing yet stoic defense Etienne made a minute mistake and opened himself to a counter-riposte. The conversation had been the best of the fight, with Etienne performing a rapid feint towards Jean's right. Jean responded with a simple return coupe which Etienne then riposted with great skill. However, Jean knew that because of the coupe which bypassed Etienne's sword tip that the elder would be forced to shift just ever that much and Jean's counter-riposte was on the way to end the fight and draw blood. And then something happened that Jean didn't expect. Etienne's off hand suddenly was thrown up and to the side, sending Jean's perfect counter-riposte into the air. Etienne then bull-rushed the young man as the movement had forced him to forgo his Rapier. Jean and Etienne hit the ground hard and before Jean could even begin to wrestle he found a gauche knife at his throat. Jean grinned widely and chuckled as he yielded.

The d’Alençon was truly impressive, more so than Etienne had even expected. Almost a third of his own age, Jean already handled himself like a musketeer, and one of the most disciplined Etienne had seen. He could tell that this training yard was not one just installed for mere show, as many nobles would have, merely so they could play pretend and show off to their fellows. But rather his technique was the result of countless hours of practice, and forced perfectionism. Not a move was unplanned, nor a feint out of place. The boy's footwork, while expected to be nimbler than the old soldier's due to both age and build was flawless, keeping in rhythm as the two danced with their blades. While Jean clearly had the stamina of youth at his disposal, his limbs showed no sign of tiring as he delivered precise move after move, lunging and feinting, parrying and passing. Etienne's face showed nothing during the duel, but the fight was the most engaging he had entered since that fateful day in 1628. It felt again as if he was crossing blades with no common bandit or mercenary, but another devoted to the art of swordplay, their steel bearing their very soul. But old age would catch up with the captain. In a brief moment of catching his breath, Jean's counter riposte penetrated through his guard, and threatened to end the duel, the cold metal piercing skin and shedding the blood of the older man, thus winning the battle. However, while Jean was indeed a true prodigy of fencing, which could not be disputed by any under Heaven or Earth, his style was honed in contained settings, and carried out through training through one on one duels. The lad was green when it came to the fires of war, when a man did what he must to survive and skill dictated little next to instinct. Etienne seized his chance. While the captain had no doubt lived nearly three of Jean's lifetimes and was at an age disadvantage to a younger opponent, his experience trumped his handicap. Blocking the counter at the last second, he rushed the young scion, tackling him to the ground in a brutish manner, before drawing a hidden gauche and placing it firmly to his opponent's neck before a response could be formed. The look in Jean's eyes as they fell showed he was ill-prepared for the move. As the dust cleared and Jean yielded, grinning at the old soldier, he was offered a hand and pulled to his feet, before Etienne cleared the dust from his attire.

“You fight well d’Alençon, splendidly even. Under different circumstances, I would not be opposed to placing a recommendation to the King for your joining of the musketeers.” He huffed as he spoke, catching his breath from the match and the unexpected push of his strength that, although it had won him the match, had required much effort and worn at his old bones. “But the downfall of many a musketeer I have seen is that they expect all around them to fight with the same conviction and rules. In a duel it is easy to stick to a rigid pattern, but when you are on the frontlines of a campaign and your forces break, only your survival will matter. You must learn to adapt, to expect the unexpected, and turn it to your advantage. Some of the finest men I have known have lost far more than their pride to playing by the rules.” Overcome with a wave of fatigue, the captain took a nearby seat, brushing the sweat from his brow. “I am truly impressed. I do not wish to push my luck and take a round against you now demoiselle, but I am certain that you hold as much skill as your brother.” He paused as he let out a long breath, coughing several time in succession, before speaking once the moment had passed. “I apologise for any earlier offence. It was unbecoming of me, and I let my emotions get the better.”

Watching the sparring match was diverting her brother, starting his usual moves made Joan roll her eyes. Predictable. She loaded the pistols then leaned against a tree, her arms crossed. Then things got interesting and the conversation changed. Raising an eyebrow she watched as l'Armand left himself open. Her eyes flashed to Jean. He only saw the opportunity, not the deception. Studying l'Armand more closely, Joan watched as his defense tightened up again, then slackened, with Jean taking the bait. Tensing, Joan watched l'Armand deflect the blade with his hand and knocked over her brother, with l'Armand holding a knife to Jean's throat. Blinking, Joan broke out in a smile.

"Bravo. He was becoming insufferable. Jean will you tell Laurent to bring Imp out. No need to saddle him." Looking over at l'Armand, a playful smile on her face that did not reach her eyes formed. Joan stated softly after her brother walked away. "Clever l'Armand, to leave yourself open so that someone would be tempted to take advantage of the trap. I shall have to remember that next time Jean and I fence." She continued on from l'Armand's joke to avoid another sparring match. "Oh I have no intention of attempting to live up to the expectations my brother's just set in fencing. I am not his equal in that area and he does not appreciate my… passionate enthusiasm in Florentine. You may catch your breath dear l'Armand. I will show you what I can do."

As Laurent and Jean returned with Imp in tow, the rifle was placed in Joan's hands, having just finished being loaded. "Alright. I will ride across the field here, fire at Jean's apple on the fence post, jump the fence, dismount and use the pistols will shoot my apple which Jean will toss into the air." Making her way over to Imp, Joan leapt up onto his back, rifle in hand and cantered to the far side of the field. Signaling Imp, they took off at a gallop. Joan and Imp seemed as one as they approached the fence, Joan scanning for the apple. Jean had not made it easy since the apple was not on top of a post but beside it as well as being lower down than Joan anticipated. "Apparently he wants me to show off." Taking aim while riding a galloping horse was near impossible. Joan knew that was impressive enough but l'Armand should know why Richelieu sent him here. So she knew she could accomplish that which she had boasted. Squeezing lightly on the trigger, the rifle went off and the apple exploded. Imp did not flinch at the gun retort nor at the shifting of his rider, as he knew she was stabilizing for the jump he felt her ask of him. Holding the rifle in one hand and Imp's mane in the other, both Joan and Imp flew over the fence with graceful ease. Joan brought Imp to a halt and dismounted with a swift fluid jump that was a sight to behold. As Joan rolled she let go of the rifle and rolled right to her feet. An apple flew at Joan's head and she drew her pistols in a blur, shooting each almost at the exact same time so that there seemed to only be one shot. The apple exploded, showering the ground with bits and juice.

“My thanks demoiselle. I still must commend your brother's skill with a blade.” The captain remained in his seat as he conversed with the younger twin, who had ordered her brother to fetch her horse, commanding him as if her was some mere servant. Though nothing appeared on his face to suggest so, l'Armand was taking a liking to her in particular. She had a fearlessness in her, in a world where men dictated everything. Even her choice of clothing was a sign that she refused to be shackled by her male counterparts. l'Armand only imagined what fresh hell her father had gone through trying to tame her and fit her into the box he would have seen her placed in. “You give me too much credit. Merely an old field trick, disarm an opponent of their expectation.” She spoke of her intention not to match her brother in a match, to which Etienne breathed a sigh of relief, but a display of shooting. She had mentioned after all that it was that which her skillset lay in, rather than a blade in hand. L'Armand was just happy that he could remain sitting, as the duel had taken much out of him.

Once the horse had arrived, Joan was off, handling both gun and beast like a mere extension of herself. The first blast rang out, and one of the provided apples exploded into tiny pieces, fruit flying off to all sides. Vaulting over the fence, she took leave of the horse and landing with a perfect roll, opened fire once more with twin pistols this time, annihilating another apple, with both shots acting as one and hitting their target, causing devastation to the fruit. Sufficed to say the old man was more than impressed with the pair. His earlier assumption of them as being a pair of entitled nobles who boasted of skill yet may not back it up was well and truly gone. The two were indeed sharp tounged, and may perhaps give off the wrong impression in certain instances, but they would be tremendous assets. He waited until she had returned, and stood, addressing both twins now.

“Your skills are exemplary, that is crystal clear. Any earlier doubts I had towards you both have been banished to the void, and it is apparent why you are as looked upon by those in high places as you are. You have both shown me things those of even double your age could not come close to achieving, and if I may, you would be welcome additions to the mission of which I did come to gauge your suitability for recruitment. I would like to invite you once more, now understanding one another moreso than before, to visit upon my estate tonight and hear out exactly what it is that cannot be spoken of here and now. Would I be able to count on your presence within the meeting?”

Jean had kept an eye on Etienne after the battle. He was aware that he had probably exhausted the poor old man but he had impressed Jean with his knowledge. Jean would forever debate with anyone that Etienne had 'bested him' or trapped him as Jean surely had him, but the lesson that the Captain had given would resound and mirror that of his mother. Always expect the hidden blade, stop believing that everyone will fight like you. Which if Jean had to speak a weakness, was his.

He smiled through Joan's show and clapped after she ended. And when the two stood beside Etienne and was offered to attend a meeting at his estate the two twins looked at each other for a brief moment, turned and then nodded and bowed their heads as one.

"We'd be honored Captain who was and is again." Their words once again speaking at the same time.

Etienne could not help but laugh at the moniker the twins had given him. Despite his initial reaction to the pair, they had grown on him in a very short period, though he was still cautious of their nature. They seemed akin to cats, playing with their victims so long as it pleased them, but always letting them know that they could turn at any moment. Regardless, the invitation was accepted, to the captain's relief. Though he had yet to inform them of the true trials that would await them, he was pleased that they would at least hear him out on the matter.

“My thanks seigneur, demoiselle.” He gave a bow, although winced slightly doing so, with some of the pain from his over-exertion still remaining. “We will be gathering at midnight. I ask that you make your way with caution, for it is imperative that you come alone and are not followed. My estate is not of a grandiose nature of such, but stands as the largest dwelling on Rue de Épreiver, only a few leagues from your own residence. You will recognise it by a single lamp having been lit outside at the time. Upon entering the courtyard, I ask you refrain from the use of the main door, as to not attract attention, but instead make your way round to a smaller door, an entrance to the servant's quarter. You will rap lightly on the door three times, and then a fourth after a brief pause, and when asked who goes there, you shall speak the phrase 'Secrecy is the first essential in affairs of the State'. You will then be ushered inside, and directed to a single room where all will be revealed.” He bowed once more. “I thank you for your time mes hôtes. I look forward to you presence upon the night.”

Upon leaving the d’Alençon estate and retrieving Mirebeau, Etienne made his way directly to his home, with no distractions. Arriving and dismounting his steed, he made his way inside once stabling him, and began his instructions to the two house staff.

“We will be expecting four to join us tonight.” Although already discussed and in place, he ran through the details of arrivals once more, making sure that only one of the greeting lamps would be lit at the hour, as well as the code Gaspard would check with the guests to ensure they were of those who Etienne had spoken with. There could be no room for error, for if anyone other than the selected few were to hear of this.....the old soldier did not even want to think of the consequences. The cleaning had already commenced that he could see, though never held a doubt that it would not be carried out. “I want us all looking our best to receive our guests.” As a former member of the King's army, Etienne was fastidious when it came to appearances, only having letting the inhabitants of the estate relax on their attire over the last few years due to the lack of faces over than themselves that were ever present. Yet Etienne was still unscrupulous over his own, always making sure he looked the most presented he could. The afternoon had barely started, yet it felt as if they had a million things to prepare before the aforementioned hour. Shortly tracking him down, the captain roped Mathéo into assisting with the cleaning, insisting on the urgency of their task. With that, the captain made his way upstairs, scanning around to make sure he was alone before entering the secret study, locking the door behind him. He was plunged into darkness as before, as although the sun still hung in the sky, all sources of the light's entry had been covered in thick drapes. He knew the layout of the room well enough to traverse it, though his eyes slowly became once more accustomed to his dark surroundings. Siding up to the suit of armour that had once belonged to his son, he placed his hand upon the leather chest.

“Soon. Soon this will all be worth the years passed. I promise you.” His attention turned to the nearby desk, on which a single shrouded item stood. Etienne paused before taking the cloth and removing it, revealing a shining table mirror. It gleamed of silver, the unnatural glow cutting through the darkness as if a light in a tunnel. Even the surface seemed beyond the norm, almost mercurial in its form, as if one could reach out to touch it, and their hand would slip through to the other side. Etienne went to the door, checking through the keyhole that he was alone, and no sound came apart from that of activity downstairs. Satisfied in his conclusion, he returned to the mirror, beginning a chant in an unfamiliar tongue. The surface of the mirror seemed to ripple in response, with the captain continuing the words of the draconic language. Three times more the mirror rippled, as if its very surface were made from a silvery water, before it ceased. Etienne stopped, seeming to enter a sudden anger as the cease of action. Though moments later, the head of a dragon appeared where Etienne's own reflection should have been. His scales were a light grey, with a spiked crest and eyes that burned of a crimson red.

“Master.” The old soldier spoke in hushed tones. “The preparations are complete. The candidates will be arriving on the night.” The dragon moved in acknowledgement, as if a living thing stuck inside the glass.

“You have done well.”