A/N: #15 of Febuwhump 2021. I didn't write it for the challenge, though; just needed something to help me get back to writing after a dry spell. For 29pieces. ^_^

"Run, don't look back."

It had been a few years since Aramis had used any of his skills in the field, though the path young Louis had torn through the underbrush in his tempestuous flight from the palace was clear for any novice tracker to follow. Aramis found him sitting at the base of a tree, knees drawn up and chin tucked behind them. Louis flicked a sullen look up at him before stubbornly looking away.

Aramis leaned against the edge of the trunk. "Your Majesty," he said casually. He didn't know what had upset the young King, only that he had had a row with his governess, and his mother had not been able to diffuse it. Aramis thought perhaps a father's touch might help, though of course he could never speak so freely in such a manner. But he could lend a supportive ear and companionable presence. As the King's First Minister.

"I'm not going back," the seven-year-old said mulishly. "You can't make me!"

"Alright." Aramis folded his arms across his chest and looked around the woods. "It's a nice day out anyway."

Louis glanced up at him suspiciously. "You're not going to tell me I have to go back?"

"Well, eventually. I assume you don't plan to sit out here all night."

Louis scrunched his face up recalcitrantly again. "Maybe I will! I'm the King, I should be able to do what I want, but everyone is always telling me what to do and what to wear and how to act. I hate it."

"Hm," Aramis hummed ruminatively. "I didn't like being told what to do when I was young either."

Louis canted a curious look up at him. "Who told you what to do?"

"My father. He had his own plans for my life, but I didn't agree with them. Then I went off and became a soldier and my life was all about following orders other people gave." He flashed Louis a wry grin.

The boy seemed to consider that for a moment. "But not anymore. Now you give orders. And no one tells you what to do."

"Sometimes," Aramis replied carefully. "Though I've learned that any wise leader knows how to listen to good counsel, especially from those with more experience. And with such power comes great responsibility and certain expectations. It can be both an honor and a burden to fulfill them."

He paused for a pregnant moment.

"Perhaps Your Majesty can find a balance between what others want you to do and what you want to do," he finished.

Louis pursed his mouth. "Maybe…"

Aramis waited a few more beats before Louis finally let out a beleaguered sigh and got to his feet.

"I suppose we can go back now."

"I'm sure your mother would like to see you. She was worried when you ran off on your own."

"Something else I'm not allowed to do," the boy muttered.

"There are good reasons for that," Aramis said.

"Indeed," a new voice interjected.

Aramis tensed, his spine snapping ramrod straight as four men revealed themselves from behind some thick chaparral. Their cloth was poor and they had a hardened look about them that Aramis instantly recognized, and he cursed himself for not noticing there was anyone nearby. He'd been sitting behind a desk too long.

He deftly pushed Louis to stand behind him. "These are palace grounds," he said with more confidence than he had a right to hold at the moment. "You should go back the way you came."

The man who'd spoken scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Yeah, we thought we were gettin' close to the palace. Heard some of the courtiers like to walk in the gardens or out this way. Didn't expect the King himself, though." He canted his head and gave the boy a toothy leer. "Your Majesty."

Aramis backed up a step, subtly pushing Louis back as well. He had one dagger on him, tucked along the back of his belt, which was woefully insufficient for the arms these men were carrying. Two of them were already sidestepping to begin circling around. There was a narrow window here, and Aramis knew the odds, but he had only one thought—his son.

He slowly knelt down next to Louis, careful not to make any sudden movements and trigger the imminent confrontation too soon. With one eye on the men gradually drawing closer, Aramis took his son by the shoulders and lowered his voice.

"Now is the time I need you to do as you're told. Do you understand?"

Louis's eyes were wide and confused but he nodded.

Aramis nodded back. "Run. Don't look back."

The young King hesitated only a split second before thankfully following the order and turning to bolt back toward the palace. The men gave a shout and surged forward. Aramis whipped out his dagger and threw it through the air toward the man closest to give pursuit and out of his reach. The blade thudded into his chest, taking him down. That left three more, and Aramis unarmed.

Steel scritched as it was drawn from scabbards and the ruffians charged. Aramis backpedaled and snatched up a branch, which he then swung in a downward arc to catch two men in the legs, tripping them before they could go after the King. The third bellowed with rage and lashed out with his sword. Aramis barely ducked in time, diving to the ground and wresting one of the other men's swords from his hand. He leaped back up, and metal screeched as it collided midair.

The other scoundrel who still had his sword was soon up and joining his comrade as they both bore down on Aramis. The First Minister's arm muscles quavered under the onslaught, no longer accustomed to such strenuous exertion. But he held them at bay. Until the third man he'd disarmed picked up the very same branch Aramis had used on them and swung it hard into Aramis's back. The air was driven from his lungs and the force of the impact pitched him face first toward the ground. He barely missed falling onto his opponent's sword.

A heavy boot kicked him over onto his back, and his lungs spasmed with the desperate need to suck in air. A sword arm was drawn back, poised to run him through.

"Wait," the leader barked. He dropped down, planting a knee across Aramis's chest just below his throat, constricting his heaving breaths.

Another foot stepped on his sword arm, pinning it to the ground, while the leader grabbed his other wrist and yanked his hand up, setting the sharp edge of his blade just under Aramis's fingers.

"That's the seal of the First Minister, if I'm not mistaken," the man mused.

Aramis sucked in a jerky breath.

"He may not be the King, but I bet he'll still fetch a pretty price."

He braced himself to fight back once they let him up, having no intention of going quietly, but he never got the chance. The leader adjusted his sword and slammed the pommel into the side of Aramis's head.

…

The touch of thick leather against his face roused his senses, followed by a muffled voice calling out gently.

"Aramis."

He tried to open his eyes, but the first crack of light was like a spike to the skull and he quickly squeezed them shut again as nausea burbled through his stomach.

"Aramis," the voice prodded again. A pair of gloved hands were cupping his face, preventing him from moving when he tried to loll his head away. Which was good, because any small movement made his precarious stomach lurch and the pain magnify tenfold. He tried getting his eyes to open again. Everything was blurry.

"That's it," the voice encouraged.

"D'Artagnan," he murmured.

The hands stayed at his head, but he felt someone shifting on his other side and his arms were jostled as something thick and coarse was cut away from them.

"Mmph," he groaned, prizing his eyelids open further so he could see what was going on. The surrounding greens and shards of sunlight were too bright to handle. "Where…?"

"Still in the woods outside the palace," d'Artagnan replied, keeping his voice low, which Aramis appreciated. "The kidnappers didn't get far before we caught up to them."

Alarm zinged through him and Aramis jolted. "Louis!"

"Is fine," d'Artagnan assured him. "Who do you think came and told us what happened?"

Aramis shifted as his spinning senses gradually began to settle. He was sitting propped up against a tree. D'Artagnan let one hand drop away but kept the other bracing his neck, and he became aware of something wet and tacky clinging to the entire left side of his face.

"Don't move," d'Artagnan advised. "A cart will be here soon."

"I don't need to be carried back," Aramis huffed.

"Up until a few moments ago, you were unconscious. The cart was already sent for."

He sighed but decided not to argue the matter. He didn't really want to try getting up just yet anyway, and he supposed it would make for a good example of doing what others tell you even if you don't like it for young Louis. Not that Aramis wanted his son to see him like this. Fortunately, the boy was safely in the Louvre.

Aramis turned his focus on his breathing and not giving in to the urge to throw up. D'Artagnan remained a steady presence at his side until the cart finally arrived, and then Aramis was helped to his feet and gently guided over to climb into the back. The ride back was far from pleasant with all the lurching, and Aramis thought he might have fared better walking, even though he couldn't see straight. By the time they reached the palace, he wanted nothing more than to pass out and have a respite from the explosive pounding in his head.

But he was not so fortunate. He had to then make his way from the drive up to his rooms, and then endure an examination by the royal physician, which involved an arduous cleaning of the blood drying all down his face and beard and careful bandaging afterward. Then his attendants wanted to help him change out of his rumpled clothes, at which point Aramis had finally snapped at everyone to get out and he promptly bent over the side of his bed, closing his eyes against the spinning room. He hadn't realized d'Artagnan was still there until a clean shirt was set on the mattress in front of him.

"Want help?"

Aramis sighed. Accepting help from a friend wasn't as demeaning as taking it from a bunch of underfoot servants, so he straightened and turned toward his friend.

D'Artagnan gave him a knowing look as he undid the front clasps of Aramis's coat, then helped him shrug out of the sleeves. Pulling his shirt up over his head left him dizzy, and he was forced to hold himself still as d'Artagnan looped the clean shirt over his head.

"Thank you," Aramis murmured as he finally eased himself into bed. How many times had they done this for each other when they were musketeers together? Aramis was grateful to still have that equality with his brother.

D'Artagnan pulled a chair over to sit by the bed.

"You don't have to stay," Aramis pointed out.

"Someone needs to make sure you don't fall asleep and never wake up. And I doubt you want it to be the doctor or the servants."

"That is true."

He closed his eyes because they were aching too much, and the next thing he knew, d'Artagnan was prodding him to open them again.

"Mmph," he mumbled in complaint.

"You've been sleeping for an hour," d'Artagnan said, and Aramis could practically hear the smile in his voice.

He blinked in surprise and looked around the room. The slant of sunlight through the window had changed slightly. So had his visitors.

"Your Majesty," he said and tried to push himself upright.

D'Artagnan immediately reached out to hold him down just as Anne chided him for moving.

"Louis was worried about you," she said once he'd settled back down, and he realized the young King was standing next to his mother, looking hesitant.

"I'm all right," he immediately assured them.

"With rest," d'Artagnan interjected pointedly.

Aramis smiled and looked at his son. "One of those times following orders is for my own good."

Louis's expression was still pinched. "This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't run off."

"Maybe," Aramis replied. "But you heard those men: they were there looking for trouble. If not us, then they would have found someone else to target. But you did what I told you and ran, and because of that, d'Artagnan found me in time. So I owe you both my life."

He was suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of exhaustion, and his eyelids had drifted closed without his consent.

"He'll be in and out for a while," he heard d'Artagnan tell Anne and Louis, their voices sounding far away. "I sent for Constance. He'll be more agreeable with a familiar face."

"Can I visit again?"

"I think that would be all right, my darling."

Aramis drifted, cocooned in the familiar warm voices of his loved ones.