The King's Own

Prologue

New Avalon. August 12, 2099. Thunder and cannon blast filled the thick air as the rage of battle went ever on. The ¬ack-ack-ack of rifles mingled with sounds of the pouring rain pelting the metal boxes that contained the soldiers' ammunitions. In the distance, lightning, gunfire, and explosions lit up the blackened sky. It was impossible to tell one from the other as they flashed in succession. The forces of Louis XII had fought a long and hard war and were continuing to fight one. This was the War of Unification. One that so many soldiers had bled and died for. PFC James d'Artagnan was a member of the King's Own, a group of soldiers whose mission was to protect the king at all costs. The young private's comrades were already getting impatient with the war and wanted to go home to their families. Home to their warm beds in their studio apartments. Home to the warm embrace of their wives and girlfriends waiting for them there. Home to good food prepared by their mothers. These were young men. And given their youth, their reaction to the war was understandable. But James d'Artagnan kept his sense of duty and patriotism. He would see this war through. It would be a tale to tell to his children someday. Before the War of Unification, the land was torn by warring factions. These lands were once called Canada and the United States. After a giant cataclysmic event wiped out most of the population of the two countries, none were left but a handful of power-hungry, land-grabbing men from both sides who wanted to expand their territories now that the landscape had drastically changed. Lines were drawn and blood was spilled. It was Louis V who united the two nations into one. But even then, there were those who were unsatisfied and wished to secede from the newly-formed nation of New Avalon. That was then. This is now. The war was still being fought. It was all most of these young men had known their whole lives. While they played with wooden sticks for rifles at home, their fathers fought with real ones in no man's land. But the young private felt that change was coming—it had to. He could feel it in his bones. The beast that kept progress and freedom at bay was dying, gasping for what little air it could still get. Louis's forces were finally winning. The rebels were losing, dropping like flies. This was the end of the war. 

"Private!" Lieutenant Alexander de Treville bellowed through the boom of the cannons and the peals of thunder. "Private d'Artagnan!" 

"Sir!" the young soldier responded, running toward his commanding officer, saluting him. 

"As you were, Private," Lieutenant Treville said, bring his own hand down to his side. "You have a message." 

"Thank you, sir," James d'Artagnan said with a quick bow of his head. 

"Don't mention it," the lieutenant said. "Dismissed." 

With shaking hands, the young soldier opened his letter. It was from his fiancée, Molly Callahan. He sighed, leaning his head against the muddy dirt wall of his foxhole, a smile slowly spreading across his face like a drop of red blood in a bowl of milk. It was only two lines but it made him smile so big. 

"I'm three months pregnant... Still don't know if it's a boy. 

If it is, what do you want to name him?" 

XOXO, Molly 

P.S. I miss you so bad! 

 He kissed the note, folded it up once more, and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He closed his eyes, reminiscing, turning back the clock three months. It was also a rainy night like this. Molly Callahan had stolen a nurse's uniform and snuck into the camp. She had missed James terribly and just had to see him, consequences be damned. They made love against a wooden post in the pouring rain, unnoticed amidst all the chaos of battle. It was the night Charles d'Artagnan was conceived. 

* * * * * 

Four years later. Coronation of Louis XIII. Young Charles d'Artagnan looked around in awe at the sea of people and at the vast number of King's Own, including his father, wearing their dress uniform. White shirt, black necktie, midnight blue suit complete with epaulets and braid, medals and ribbons, white gloves, black socks, and black shoes. From a sash on their shoulder hung their ceremonial rapiers, which they drew in salute at the announcement that the new king was making his way towards the throne. He was only eight, and as he was not yet of age, New Avalon was to be ruled by the young Louis's advisers. On the dais stood the Cardinal in all his holy glory, along with Louis's guardians and advisers. He was to ceremonially crown the boy king, though his rule would not officially begin until he came of age."Soldiers! Citizens! People of New Avalon! Subjects of the King!" the Cardinal began. "This nation was founded in hopes that it will be a utopia. When King Arthur lay dying, he was transported on a barge to the mystical land of Avalon. It was there, it is said, that he rested, and is resting still, until the day of his return. I have always imagined it a peaceful place, undisturbed by war and pestilence. So too did the founding fathers of New Avalon think. And so they named it after that mystical land where none may disturb King Arthur's sleep—a utopia of peace, harmony, and beauty!"The crowd erupted with applause. Cardinal Richelieu resumed his speech."We have far to go, beloved Avalonians! We have only recently ended the war that tore this kingdom apart! There are still things that need to be done. Our wounds are still fresh. But with the help of wise leadership and a unity of spirit among the people, New Avalon will rise from the ashes like a great phoenix of the west! There once was a man who said, 'The strength of a kingdom depends not on the strength of its king, but on the strength of its people.' You are what will give New Avalon its strength. But strength is not enough. We need a man to lead us! We had hoped that the king who led us to peace and victory on the battlefield would be the same king who will lead us in our time of peace and prosperity. But alas, he is no more, and the burden of leading the nation stands upon the shoulders of this young boy sitting before us. May he lead New Avalon wisely and justly."The Cardinal, having finished his speech, motioned to one of the attendants standing nearby to bring the crown. The boy king already had the orb and scepter in his hands as he sat on the throne in his new tailor-made suit. The Cardinal bowed, and with a smile, placed the crown on the child's head. The crowd burst into cheers of "Long live the King! Long live the King! Long live the King!"