Hi guys and welcome to my new story

To all those who've read my other fic's welcome back and to all those who haven't hi :)

I'm really excited about this story and have loads of ideas for it so I really hope you'll like it too.

I have lots of H/C moments lined up so those of you who like that, don't worry there will be plenty in this fic.

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Enjoy

xxx

DISCLAIMER: Unfortunately I do not own the Musketeers, just the OC


Chapter One: Running

Faster!

That was the only thought racing through the head the small figure sprinting down the early Parisian streets.

Knowing they didn't have any time to spare, that they could very well already be too late, the figure ran like a bat out of hell, with one singular destination in mind. The Musketeer garrison.


Early mornings did not suit Athos. The musketeer was known to rely on drink in an attempt to bury memories from his past from raising their heads and haunting his sleep, though he would usually keep it within a limit if he knew, like today, that he would be required at the palace in the early morning hours.

Unfortunately for the now hung-over musketeer the previous day had been the anniversary of a particularly painful memory, causing the need to indulge more than usual.

Cursing the King's desire to have an early morning hunt, the musketeer proceeded to dunk his head into the bucket of ice cold water that he always made sure was available to him in the mornings, the coolness of the water aiding in helping his body sober up.

Once he had dried his wet hair and dressed appropriately Athos picked up his weapons and exited his rooms.

Cursing again – though this time because of the glare of the early morning sun that seemed extra bright today just to spite him. Athos headed down to the table he and his brothers always commandeered, deciding that he might be able to appease the thundering hangover if he supplied it with breakfast.

Noticing the distinct lack of his brother's presence at the table it took everything in the barely awake and terribly hung-over musketeer not to groan. He swore that if either Aramis or D'Artangan were late again because of their attention being drawn by members of the fairer sex he would have them sparring until they could barely stand, let alone pursue the objects of their affection.


Swearing quietly in a string of different languages as their path was once again cut off by a merchant and his wagon heading towards the market square to get set up for another working day the cloaked figure skirted around the potbellied man and his cart, choosing to use the back streets in an attempt to regain time.

Fatigue was beginning to close in but the figure refused to give in or to stop, knowing full well that stopping could mean death for the one person in this world they would give or do anything for.

Why did the Musketeer's garrison have to be located on the furthest side of the city to the entrance they had arrived at!

Infinitely glad to find that nothing substantial had changed streetwise in the two years they had been away from Paris the figure picked up speed.


Bending to pick up his hat that had fallen from its place on his head as he had made his early morning escape Aramis couldn't help but grin. The beautiful Madame he had spent the night with had left him infinitely satisfied - the oaf said Madame was married to had returned earlier than expected but the man made enough noise entering his house that he could easily rouse half of France so the charismatic marksman had sufficient warning to dress and escape via the woman's window before her husband was any the wiser to his presence.

The adrenaline from his jump from the window had the musketeer antsy to do something, anything. Deciding he would risk being slightly late – and as such Athos's anger, and detour to his rooms to change before heading to the garrison, figuring that the run would help drain the adrenaline that would be little use to him as he spent the morning watching the King attempt to hunt.

Arriving at the garrison in record time Aramis wasn't surprised to see Athos already at their table. He was surprised however at the state of his friend, obviously the alcohol had been a more demanding companion the previous night than it usually was.

Reaching into his satchel for the powder he always kept on him, Aramis poured the bottle's contents into a glass of water before approaching the table and sliding said glass under his brother's nose and sending the musketeer a knowing look when he raised his head from his breakfast to look at him.

Receiving a grateful smile from his friend Aramis stretched his long body before leaving the table briefly in search of his own breakfast, he'd worked up an appetite last night and knowing the King, they wouldn't be able to eat for several hours once the hunt started so best to be full before heading out.


Almost collapsing in relief when the garrison's watchtowers came into view the figure ran on.

They were still some distance from the garrison itself – the watchtowers being tall enough to be seen from a decent distance. But the figure was undeterred – the simple fact that the towers could be seen meant that they were on the right path and would reach the garrison soon.

Gasping for breath as their foot got caught in an uneven patch of ground the figure threw their arms out in a desperate attempt to keep their balance.

Smirking slightly in pride as they managed to remain upright, the figure went to continue their run only to wince in pain as they put pressure on the foot that had been caught, causing their almost fall.

Growling out another string of curses the figure steeled themself for the pain before starting to run again. The pain in their foot growing with every step the figure pushed on, they would not be detained by pain, not when his life was at stake.


Swearing blindly for his foolishness for getting distracted D'Artangan rushed to the garrison, knowing full well what Athos would do to him if he were late…again

The young musketeer in training had agreed, after an almost terrible incident with Aramis's old friend Marsac, to train Constance to shoot and wield a sword.

Not that it had taken much convincing from the young redhead, she had D'Artangan wrapped nice and tight around her little finger – although she didn't seem to realize that quite yet.

So the young pair had spent their morning in a secluded grove outside the city practicing how to handle and shoot a pistol.

Smiling like a loon when he remembered the feel of Constance pressed up against him when she hugged him after making her first shot, D'Artangan mentally slapped himself. Now was definitely not the time to be thinking of that, plus she was unfortunately married. Clutching the hilt of his sword to stop it from bashing too much against his leg as he raced to arrive at the garrison on time D'Artangan worked on forcing the still present smile from his face.

Arriving at the garrison the Gascon couldn't contain his grin when he noticed two of his brothers sitting at their table eating breakfast. D'Artangan sighed in relief – if they were still casually eating then he couldn't possibly be late and so was safe from whatever hellish punishment Athos would have undoubtedly forced upon him.


There!

The gates of the garrison became visible and the exhausted figure couldn't contain the smile that spread across their face. Now if only they had made it in time then all would be right with the world and the cloaked figure could finally relax.

Running into the garrison's courtyard the figure could feel the inquisitive stare upon itself but before anyone could do or say anything exhaustion finally overwhelmed the small figure as it collapsed onto its knees.

Forcing the fog of fatigue from their mind the figure remembered exactly why they had raced through the city in the first place and, with an incredibly large amount of panic in their voice yelled "Porthos! Please I need to speak to Porthos Du Vallion!"