I am so glad that some of you are enjoying this imagine. I couldn't resist giving the Richelieu role to Petyr, and the Rochefort role to Ramsay. My two favourite bad guys together. I am still trying to mix the Musketeers with GoT as much as I can, so, I hope that you all enjoy this latest instalment.
"Er........Jaime. I think that we should get (Y/n) back to the garrison. We don't want those fools to come back with reinforcements." Robb coughed, as Jaime and (Y/n) reluctantly moved apart. The lion nodding slowly, as he reached down and took (Y/n)'s hand in his. The Musketeer realising that he really did love the lady, more than he thought possible. And that no matter what happened. No matter who the king had decided that he wanted her to marry. He wasn't going to let her go again. He wasn't going to let another man have what was his. To have what should have already been his.
"I think that Robb may be correct. We should tell the captain what happened and get the maestre to make sure that you are alright, (Y/n)." Jaime agreed. The Musketeer hoping that when they got her back to the garrison, that he and (Y/n) would be able to talk quietly together. That they would be able to come up with a way, so that they could finally be together.
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"So, let me understand this correctly, Ramsay." The Cardinal began, as he slowly rose from his large, ornate chair. The man from the Dreadfort shifting uncomfortably on the spot, as the stern looking Baelish, began to pace the room.
"You are telling me, that four.......four of my men were beaten in a street fight by a woman, earlier today. And that by now, the reports of the incident are probably all over Paris?" The Cardinal enquired. The Comte hating the fact, that he was the one that had had to come and tell the Red Eminance, of what had occurred.
"Yes, your Eminance. I have had the four men involved, questioned. They all appear to have the same story. I..........."
"And what exactly is that story, Ramsay?" Baelish interrupted. It obvious from his tone, that the older man was far from happy with the news.
"That they were patrolling the alleys and courtyards, when suddenly they came across a well-dressed whore, that spoke about a tavern called The Suckling Pig. When they asked what she was doing there, she suddenly pulled a sword from under her skirts and attacked them. They proceeded to defend themselves, but..........."
"But they ran away like cowards! Tell me, Ramsay. How likely does any of that sound to you? A well-dressed whore, that just happened to be armed, and was skilled enough with a sword, to beat four of my men? If these fools have not made this whole story up, then I much doubt that this well dressed woman was a simple whore. I want you to go down to this tavern and enquire about this "woman". If she is in fact, real, I want to know who she is, what she was doing in that tavern, and if she was with anyone. I wish to get to the bottom of this. And when you have done that, I want the men punished. I will not have my guards brawling like drunkards in the back alleys of Paris. And even less that they be been bested by a woman." The Cardinal growled. Banging his fist on his huge wooden desk. The bastard of the Dreadfort bowing deeply, before placing his wide brimmed hat on his head, and making quickly for the door.
"Oh, and Ramsay." The Cardinal called out. Ramsay turning to see the Emissary pouring himself a glass of wine.
"Don't disappoint me. If someone wishes to make a fool of me, I would very much like to know." Baelish added, before dismissing his agent with a contemptuous wave of his hand.
Petyr made his way over to the large window that dominated the room. The Red Emissary looking out over the great city that sprawled out before him. Despite what the king may think, Paris was his. France was his. And he was not about to let anyone ruin what he had worked for so long, to obtain. Would not let anyone undermine his power and position. Under the king's father, he had been the First Minister of State, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs and Secretary of State for War, amongst other things. Yet despite the fact that others, including the Queen herself, had succeeded him in those roles, he still saw himself as the second most powerful man in France. The strength behind the throne. And he was not about to let four stupid men ruin the reputation of not only his guards, but also himself.
Normally, he was quite used to hearing that his men had been bested by the detestable king's Musketeers. And no matter how many times he had complained to Robert about his guards. No matter how many times he had tried to persuade the king to punish the accursed Musketeers for their transgressions against his own men, the king had always brushed it off. Particularly when the Musketeers in question, had been the three inseparables, Jamie, Robb and Tormund. But to learn that his men had been bested by of all things, a woman, was beyond the pale. Yet what woman was there out there, that could possibly be gifted enough with the sword to fight against, and beat, the Red Guard. Beat four men, single handed.
It would be strange for men to claim that they were beaten by a woman if it were not true. Baelish would have thought that if their story were indeed fact, that it would have been less embarrassing for everyone involved, for them to make up a story about them simply being beaten by the Musketeers. But perhaps he gave his men far too much credit. He had never claimed that the members of the Red Guard were the most intelligent of men. They were there, because they were good with a sword. Therefore, they were not quick witted enough to come up with another story, before they had been questioned. So, perhaps their tall tale of a finely dressed woman attacking them, wasn't as farfetched as it may at first appear. Though the Cardinal would have to wait for Ramsay to carry out his instructions, before he would know for certain. And whatever was the truth, the Cardinal would make sure that it didn't happen again.
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"A finely dressed lady? Hmmmm, let me think." The inn keeper mussed. Ramsay rolling his eyes and growling under his breath, as the old man continued to rub at the dirty tankard in his hands.
"Ya wouldn't mean the lady that bested four of tha Red Guards earlier today, would you?" The old man chuckled. Ramsay clenching his fist, as well as his teeth.
"Yes. Let us say that it was that lady. Now, what can you tell me about her?" The Comte replied harshly. As if wasn't bad enough that he had had to come all the way down to the dingy little tavern in the first place, the fact that the old man was delighting in the story, was just making things worse.
"She was here with the Musketeers. And.........."
"The Musketeers? Which Musketeers?" Ramsay barked. Grabbing hold of the old man's arm and pulling him across the countertop.
"J-J-Jaime, Robb and Tormund. Tha young one, Jon was with them too. They all seemed very friendly. I........I heard them call her (Y/n)." The old man stammered. His eyes growing wide as the feared Comte dragged him closer.
"(Y/n)? As in the Countess de Joinville?" Ramsay hissed. The anger growing inside him at the sound of the name. At the idea that she had been with the Musketeers. Had been with him.
"I.......I don't know, milord. They were just calling her, (Y/n). But she was quite beautiful. Really, quite beautiful. I have never seen her equal." The old man spluttered. Ramsay almost throwing him back across the bar.
"What was she doing here? She wasn't supposed to arrive in Paris until tomorrow." The Bolton bastard hissed under his breath. The Cardinal's écurie irate that the woman that the king had finally conceded to allow him to take as his bride, had not only been spending her time in the tavern, with Musketeers. But had also been with Jaime and had undoubtedly been the one at the centre of the whole affair. Ramsay storming out of the inn, and out onto the still busy Paris streets, determined to find the woman that the king was going to announce, the next day, was to be his wife.
>>--------------------------------<<
Jaime watched as the maestre looked (Y/n) over. Wrapping a bandage around the small cut on her arm. He couldn't help but smile to himself. The fight had most certainly put a sparkle in her eyes. Given her a glow that she would always get when they were children, fighting against the pretend enemies of the king. It was a look that he loved. A look that proved to him, that she was just as wild and free as she had been in their youth. And it was look that he never wanted to see disappear.
"Well, I don't know how Ramsay is gonna explain ta Baelish, that four of his men were beaten by you, (Y/n). I would love ta be a fly on the wall fa that conversation." Tormund chuckled. (Y/n) almost dropping off her chair at the sound of the name.
"Ramsay? Did you say Ramsay? As in Ramsay Bolton?" (Y/n) asked, as she got to her feet. The lady knowing that it was probably about time that she explained, what was really going to happen tomorrow. That given how she still felt for Jaime. That she now knew that she loved him as much as she always had. That it was best to tell Jaime what the king was going to say. And if he loved her too, then perhaps, together, they could find a way out of her predicament.
"Yes. Why?" Tormund replied. The big man looking at Jaime with furrowed brows, as (Y/n) dropped back into the chair.
"Jaime. I think..........I think that I should tell you something. I think that you need to know.........."