A/N: I've written 131,000 words of this verse so far. 0.o Shoutout to 29Pieces for beta reading all of them!
Chapter 1
It was a bright, late spring morning in Paris, a beautiful day with fair weather.
It could have been dreary and pouring rain and d'Artagnan's mood still wouldn't have been dampened one bit.
He surreptitiously crept up behind Constance where she stood at the kitchen counter and slipped an arm around her waist, tucking his head down to nuzzle her neck.
"Stop that!" she hissed, even as a giddy smile lit up her features. "My father could walk in at any moment."
"Your father has already gone out to tend the dragons," d'Artagnan murmured in her ear. He turned her toward him and pressed a kiss to her mouth.
She kissed back, running her fingers through his hair and tugging at the roots as she craved him as desperately as he did her. He pressed closer, pinning her against the counter, and drank in every sense of her—the softness of her skin, the scent of flowers mixed with a hint of musk that came from dragons.
Constance abruptly pulled away. "Alright, enough," she chastised with a lighthearted slap to his shoulder. "You're going to be late."
D'Artagnan grimaced; as much as he wanted to stay and bask in her company, he did have an assignment that he absolutely could not be late for.
Constance turned and grabbed a small sack off the counter. "Here, some lunch for your trip."
He beamed as he accepted it. "Thanks."
"Be careful," she added.
D'Artagnan flashed her a confident smile. "It's a royal hunt. I think it's the deer you should be worried about."
She rolled her eyes at him fondly and he grinned as he exited the house to make his way to the Musketeer garrison.
Once there, he found some of the musketeers already had their horses saddled and ready to go. He wasn't late, and the captain wasn't there yet, but he quickened his pace to enter the stable and retrieve his horse lest he be left behind. His friends had beseeched Treville to let him accompany the Guard on the King's hunt, wanting to give him as many opportunities to serve the King as possible in the hopes that Louis might take notice of him and he could finally receive his long-coveted commission.
D'Artagnan appreciated their efforts, even though they themselves wouldn't be coming along. Dragon riders didn't go on hunts, for their dragons would scare any game away, not to mention the forest could be difficult for them to navigate. The only exception was the captain, who always accompanied the King but left his dragon behind.
D'Artagnan made his way down the aisle to the stall where his horse was kept.
"Hey, girl," he greeted the brown mare, reaching over the gate to scratch her muzzle affectionately. She nickered in response, and he pulled half a carrot from his pocket to give her as a peace offering.
Since deciding to stay in Paris and become a Musketeer apprentice, d'Artagnan hadn't had much time for Beurre. But he couldn't bring himself to sell her as he'd done his father's horse, and his position hadn't yet been secured, so he knew he had to hold onto her, just in case. Captain Treville had graciously allowed him to stable her in the garrison—provided she be available for errands, to earn her keep since d'Artagnan couldn't afford to pay to stable her. It was a fair arrangement—more than fair—and the poor horse couldn't be left to stifle anyway.
But now d'Artagnan had a mission that brought horse and rider back together, and he was going to appreciate that too.
He led Beurre out of her stall and proceeded to get her saddle and bridle on. Around him, other musketeers were also getting their mounts ready, the stark blue of their cloaks standing out along with the fleur-de-lis on their uniforms. D'Artagnan had never felt out of place when with his friends but he started to feel so now. Even his brown mare looked more like a farmer's simple brood than the black Friesians with their tall bearing and long manes.
D'Artagnan quickly finished readying Beurre and led her outside where the others were waiting. Captain Treville had yet to come down, so d'Artagnan breathed a sigh of relief that he would not be tardy.
"Have fun," Aramis's voice called out, and d'Artagnan turned to see him and Porthos sitting at the table under the captain's balcony.
He managed a smile in return and briefly moved away from his horse to join them. "Thanks again for pushing for Captain Treville to include me in the detail. I've never been on a royal hunt before. Sounds exciting."
Porthos shrugged. "If you call runnin' down little furry creatures excitin'."
"Sometimes it's a red deer," Aramis put in. "That makes for a lively chase."
"Only fer those allowed to participate."
Aramis smirked. "Yes. The King chases the deer and we chase the King. It's a merry run for all."
Porthos snorted in apparent disagreement.
D'Artagnan furrowed his brow slightly. "Anything else I should know before we head out?"
"Well—"
"Oh, let him find out for himself," Aramis interrupted with a devilish grin.
Sometimes d'Artagnan wondered whether his friends truly had his best interests at heart…or if they always strove to find the most entertaining way to simultaneously help him.
Porthos shrugged at d'Artagnan in response.
He didn't have time to press them further, for the door above opened and closed and the captain's boots clomped across the balcony as he made his way toward the stairs and down to the yard. His horse was already prepared, and he ordered those assigned to the day's guard duty to move out.
D'Artagnan hurried back to his horse and climbed into the saddle, then followed the troop out of the garrison and toward the palace.
To his dismay, they weren't to set off immediately on the planned hunt. An awning was being erected over a long table, and dishes and platters of food were being brought out. It seemed the King and his courtiers would be having an early lunch outside first, which meant the musketeers in attendance would be standing guard.
Treville disappeared into the palace, perhaps to confer with the King, while the rest of the men remained outside and waited. D'Artagnan stayed with his horse, giving her attention and sneaking her scraps from the lunch Constance had packed for him.
When King Louis and the courtiers came out to dine, the musketeers moved into formal positions a short distance away, far enough they could try to tune out the idle prattle of the nobles if they wanted. And d'Artagnan had to admit he found their conversation dull in the extreme. One of the courtiers was discussing a contemporary poet she was reading, which had sparked a debate on the merits of not only that particular author, but poetry in general. Louis, apparently, was not a fan.
D'Artagnan found himself missing his friends. He knew Aramis and Porthos could be counted on to fill the tedium with quiet commentary of their own. Often d'Artagnan found himself hard-pressed to maintain his strict composure.
It was hot under the sun and he felt sweat trickling uncomfortably down the back of his collar. He'd been counting on a day spent under the shade of trees, not standing around on parade while nobles had a feast under a canopy. He wondered if Aramis and Porthos had known about this.
"You should have brought a hat," Christophe teased under his breath.
D'Artagnan gave a small head shake. "Why does everyone under the sun insist on ribbing me about that?" he muttered back.
"Maybe because everyone is right and you're not," Joubert put in from d'Artagnan's other side. "You do realize the sun comes out most days."
D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "I worked a field every day of my life; I don't need a hat."
The two musketeers smirked, and then fell silent at a droll look from their captain across the way. D'Artagnan continued to smile on the inside though. He may not have been as close with some of the other men in the regiment, but he had friends among them.
When the meal finally concluded, the King stood from his seat and declared his eagerness to get the hunt underway. Four of the noblemen left their wives as they followed the King to where five horses were elegantly saddled and ready for them.
The Musketeers returned to their mounts, taking up positions around the party with Captain Treville at the head. A small group of attendants remained on foot and would have to keep up during the hunt, or hang back when the actual chase began. With a blow of the horn, the group kicked their horses into a canter and rode off into the forest.
They rode for a short ways before slowing their pace to allow the hounds and their handler to take the lead. The dogs bent their noses to the ground, weaving back and forth as the handler tried to keep their leashes from becoming entangled. It was ten minutes before they picked up a game trail, but the hounds switched between pointing north and south and barking at their unseen quarry.
"Which way is it?" Louis demanded.
"Seems to be both, Your Majesty," the handler replied. "Two fresh trails heading in opposite directions."
"Perhaps we should split up and see who can catch their prize first," one of the noblemen suggested, drawing his horse along the path headed south.
The King straightened in his saddle at the challenge. "Very well. I will take this one." He nodded north. "The first to make the kill shall blow three times on the horn."
He gestured for the dog handler to pass over one of the hounds to another attendant to take south with the courtiers while he turned to follow the northern trail. The musketeers, of course, stayed with the King. D'Artagnan wasn't sure it was an equitable division, four against one. But maybe the King wanted some time away from his fawning courtiers.
Or he was just that prone to pride.
The group parted ways, the hound taking the lead as it clambered over the ground in search of its quarry. But aside from picking up the trail to begin with, the dog wasn't giving any indication that they were closing in.
"Do not tell me we chose the wrong trail to follow," Louis groused. "I do not want to get beaten by a bunch of courtiers."
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," the dog handler said contritely. "Sometimes the game trails are old."
D'Artagnan thought Rhaego probably could have found them fresh game. Of course, the dragon was also probably more likely to claim the kill for himself, which d'Artagnan didn't think would please the King very much. He found himself scanning the ground in search of tracks he might be able to decipher.
"Treville, can your men pick up a trail?"
"My men are here for your protection, Your Majesty," Treville replied. "They cannot break formation."
D'Artagnan immediately snapped his gaze back up, cheeks flushing hotly, though it didn't seem the statement had been a veiled rebuke directed at him. He almost volunteered to help with the tracking; he wasn't officially a musketeer, after all, so he wouldn't be breaking formation. And perhaps the King would appreciate the gesture and notice him. Especially if d'Artagnan could find him fresh game and beat the courtiers in the hunt.
Although, if he failed to do that, it might garner him the bad kind of notice.
Besides, he figured that Captain Treville would not approve at all, and d'Artagnan could definitely feel the penetrating gaze Athos would be giving him if he'd offered, so he remained silent.
Louis let out a petulant sigh. "We are in the middle of the royal forest, Treville; there is hardly any danger. Save for my reputation should those annoying nobles catch their quarry first. Surely the Musketeers must protect that as well."
The hound suddenly barked and started pawing at a bush. The handler bent down and reached under, pulling out a dead hare.
"Well, that is most disappointing," Louis said sourly. "Let's keep moving. Perhaps we can find another trail before the others catch up to theirs."
Treville was gazing at the animal carcass with a frown. "Your Majesty…"
The King's horse abruptly leaped forward with a startled whinny and bolted. D'Artagnan, who had been closest, immediately kicked his horse after him. The twang of something and shouts had him twisting in his saddle to look back. Some kind of snare netting had been triggered, shooting up from the forest floor and blocking the path of the rest of the Musketeer horses. The crack of a musket shot followed, and Christophe fell from his steed.
D'Artagnan had a split second urge to rear Beurre around and return to the fight…but the King was unprotected and he was the priority. So d'Artagnan forced himself to face forward and urge his horse faster, away from the shouts and shots sounding behind him.
He galloped between the trees, the King's horse directly ahead. Louis was shrieking as he held on tightly.
D'Artagnan bent low over his horse's neck as they came up beside the King, and d'Artagnan leaned out to snatch at the reins near the bit, using both his hand and the influence of his horse to bring the King's mount to a stop.
"Stupid animal," Louis berated under his breath.
D'Artagnan looked behind them, eyes widening in alarm as he caught movement through the trees, and they were not dressed in Musketeer blue. Someone shouted.
He immediately slid out of his saddle and moved to pull the King out of his.
"What are you doing?" Louis spluttered indignantly.
"We're under attack," d'Artagnan hurriedly explained. "We need to stay low and hidden." He pushed the King ahead of him, drawing his pistol and holding it at the ready. He cast a remorseful look at his loyal horse before giving her a slap on her flank and sending her and the King's horse the opposite direction. He could only hope they'd somehow make it back to the palace or garrison.
But he couldn't think about losing Beurre now.
Shouts had risen up at the horses' flight and the assailants were moving in. Louis threw d'Artagnan a harried look that was a mixture of confusion and terror.
D'Artagnan urged him forward, fleeing deeper into the forest with no idea just who exactly was on their tail.