Disclaimer: Obviously i do not own the Musketeers, otherwise i would be Alexandre Dumas and, furthermore, dead. Or i would be the Bbc, and in that case i would be working on new episodes, instead of writing fanfics :)

Guys, this is my first fanfic in english so please, be kind! I know there will be mistakes, i did my best but i don't have a beta, and i don't know if i was able to write it down properly. It's a multichapter story and the plot is not really original, as you can see by the prologue, but i love it, i spent a lot of time writing it ad i think it's not that bad. I'm also working on a collection of drabbles, you know, with slice of life moments, some fluff, some romance, angst... if you have any suggestion about situations you would like to read, please, write me, i will probably post the first one in a few days. Ok, that's all, thank you! Let me know if you liked this first chap or if you think it was a waste of time!

Chapter 1

Fog was clouding the wood like a dream. While riding my horse i could clearly see tree trunks, part of the leafy tops, evergreen… but the soil and the sky were… bleary. Besides, i was moving fast, as fast as i could, that if i was caught i would not even be allowed to dismount, they would kill me on the spot, so it was all the more harder to distinguish what was around me. I felt the air slap my flushed face with adrenaline, yes, and the smell of rain and wet earth penetratig my nostrils, but it was a thought that lingered in my mind without any attention, because riding and avoid being hit by a stray bullet were my first priorities. I really didn't want to be killed at all, for that matter, and then I brought with me something that was worth the risk I was in. Something for which I was ready to die.

Paris was not far.

Maybe half an hour ride? Something more? But i was tired. Exhausted. And injuried. My chest was hurting so much that i probaby had a broken rib, and so was hurting my lip, that those bastards had split with a good fist. But i felt pain at my wrists too, bound togheter so tightly that the rope had cut deep in my flash, and my neck, wrapped by another rope prevously connected to a brick wall, throbbed, making it difficult for me to simply breathing.

I could hear them shouting.

Behind me, i mean.

In six were following me on horseback, and I heard them call me, order me to stop, shoot me.

I cursed between my teeth, I had just one shot in each of my two guns, so how to eliminate the others? How to get in Paris alive?

My vision was clouded.

I felt faint. In fact, I really wanted to faint. It had been of the hardest weeks of my life, even if my live had never been properly peaceful. And yet ... I could not let me do that. Absolutely.

So, keeping myself anchored to the saddle with a knee around the pommel, I just turned around and fired, a flash of exultation when i heard a scream, followed by a thud. I let go of the first gun letting it slip in the pocket of the saddle bag, and i took the second one. Again, I aimed, and fired. Another good shot. Another man dropping to the ground.

Unfortunately, now I was unarmed. With my hands tied in front of me, riding a horse, I was fairly sure i could not reallt recharge, and certainly I was not in condition to defend myself otherwise. What to do?

I had no chance to think about anything else, though. Because right then my horse stumbled on something, a natural obstacle I think, and I fell down, hard, the collision with the grass so violent that i immediately lost consciousness, the last memory, a sharp pain in my left temple.

But, perhaps thanks to adrenaline, I was not unconscious for long.

And while I regained my senses ... I felt something odd. Gunshots. But from the wrong direction.

I felt the ground vibrate with horse hoofs, and cries, and blades that clash.

Then, finally, silence.

I tried hard to open my eyes then, wondering why I was still alive, but there, defenseless, lying on the ground covered by my gray cloak and hood, I had not the strength to do anything. My body felt so heavy ...

It was someone else to do that for me.

I heard men's voices, deep voices, getting closer and closer to me, and then the rustle of cloth that slides on a body, the sound of the leather that tends, the tinkle of a sword.

And hands. They were incredibly strong even if felt them grabbing me with unexpected delicacy, and before i could react I was lifted off the ground, leaning against a stone arm, a gloved hand that moved a lock of hair from my face.

"Milady? Can you hear me?"

To whom belonged to that voice? Other assailants? Because I had never heard it before.

"Is she unconscious?"

A second voice, different from the first.

"I'm afraid she get wounded by falling from her horse."

Another voice, another a man. He was the mysterious individual who held me close.

I had to move, react, understand who I was dealing with. The stakes were too high to desist.

The effort was almost too much to bear. It seemed to take years to lift my eyelids, so heavy like they were made of stone, the first voice asking me again if I could hear them, and it was with a flash of satisfaction that i finally managed to open my eyes, blinking a few times before i could focus on the four men crouched around me.

They were handsome.

Very much.

A dark-haired, dark skinned men, maybe in his late twenties, with eyes the color of the earth, short black hair and a powerful figure. To his right there was a very handsome young men, maybe a couple years younger, with brown hair, beard and mustache, and a garment of cured leather, elegant. He was saying something to his companions, but i was too confused to understand. A third young man, the one who supported me, then, had icy eyes, impassive expression, and a beauty ... more authoritative. He was really… captivating with those winter eyes, and it took me a moment to move to the last one. He was the younger of the group, maybe 20 years old, around my age, and he was tall, dark honey skin, thinner than those who accompanied him, and with glowing eyes.

I frowned, exhausted and sore, still wondering who they were.

Was I in more trouble?

"How do you feel?" asked me again the man that was holding me close, carefully scrutinizing my eyes.

It was that question that made me understood the situation i was in. That forced my brain to really wake up.

Suddenly I realized I was alone, wounded, with four strangers, and that i had that load on my shoulders ... I felt my eyes widen slightly, and before i knew i drew back as much I could, clearly alert.

"Who are you" I asked, mentally cursing my voice for sounding so weak.

"Calm yourself, my lady, we do not want to harm you" the second man assured me, the one with elegant clothes, raising his hands just a little bit, like i was a scared animal "we are the King's Musketeers, we saw that you were chased and we intervened to rescue you"

"Musketeers?" I repeated confused, peering suspiciously, my head was throbbing painfully as my body

"It is so, mademoiselle, calm down, you're hurt," confirmed me the bigger one, looking ... gentle despite his appearence.

I relaxed a little, because my eyes fell on his shoulder, which bore the symbol of his regiment. Only the boy did not wear it. An apprentice?

Finally I was able to breathe a sigh of relief, visibly relaxing my shoulders.

"Thank you," I nodded, returning my gaze on the quartet, who had not lifted their eyes from me.

"I am Athos, and my companions are Porthos - the mountain - D'Artagnan - the youngest - and Aramis. Am i allowed to take your hands?", he added, pointing to my wrists. I followed his gaze, remembering only then that I was tied, so i nodded, watching him take my hands and accept a long thin dagger from Aramis, to cut the rope. I could not prevent the grimace of pain that surfaced on my lips when the strings, loosening, rubbed, but immediately it was followed by the relief, and again i murmured my thanks. "Stay still, i'll free your neck now," added the musketeer, placing two fingers under my chin to tilt my face. I obeyed, stunned, gasping just a little when the noose fell.

"Is that better?" Asked kindly D'Artagnan

"Very much, thank you. You saved my life "

"What did they want from you," asked quietly Porthos, offering a hand to help me get up after getting back on its feet. I accepted grateful, letting Athos to support me on the other side. I had to at least look awful since both of them found it necessary to help me up toghether ... but i ignored my appearence, it did not matter, following his gaze and turning it to my pursuers, now dead.

"They wanted what I carry with me" I said then, turning back again toward him, frowning when I saw him sag.

But it was not him, it was me. And before I could realize it, Porthos and Athos grabbed me again, preventing me from falling to the ground.

"Mademoiselle" I also hear Aramis calling me, a note of alarm in his deep voice

I blinked, breathing just to recover consciousness. Not yet, I told myself, it was not time to rest yet. So I mumbled a thank you, and ignoring the way they looked at me, perhaps convinced that I was crazy, I went near the corpses, to make sure for myself that they were dead.

"You said what they wanted what you're bringing with you?" Repeated Athos flanking me

"Yes - I confirmed, remembering not to nod because that would have made things worse for my headache, I had no time to lose, I did not know if there were others chasing me - I have to go now, I thank you again for saving me"

"You are in no conditions to ride, mademoiselle" D'Artagnan objected, stepping in front of me

"I'm afraid I have no choice," I replied, squeezing my lips when I saw that he would not move. "May you let me go?"

"Allow us to escort you - asked Aramis coming alongside D'Artagnan, exchanging a look with his comrades in arms – that way we could protect you"

"You are not required to do so," I said, frowning

"We insist" replied Porthos seriously.

I watched them for a moment, and then sighed. " I have to see Captain Treville, anyway, I suppose it will not be a problem if his men accompany me"

"Our Captain?" Repeated Athos, guiding me to the horses

"Exactly," I nodded, letting him help me on the saddle and get up behind me, to hold me tight.

"Come on then" agreed Porthos, spurring his horse.

Paris was not so far.