A/N: Thanks guest Laureleaf for your review! Also, it seems ff is never going to send out notifications for PMs again, so I may just start thanking people in A/Ns so no one feels overlooked if they don't often check their dashboard. Because I appreciate each and every review!
Chapter 3
D'Artagnan clambered down the slope to reach the King. Louis was pushing himself up from the heap he'd landed in, spitting a clump of leaves and hair out of his mouth. More leaves were sticking out of the frizzy mess his hair had become and his clothes were rumpled and dirty. He made a distressed sound and reached for his ankle.
D'Artagnan dropped down beside him. "Your Majesty, are you injured?"
"My ankle—agh!" Louis's face twisted in misery. "I can't run anymore," he added desperately.
D'Artagnan tentatively reached out to touch the limb. Louis immediately hissed and tried to pull it away. They'd have to remove the boot to determine whether it was broken or sprained, but neither mattered because the result was the same—they were done running. D'Artagnan was going to have to make a stand, and if the assassins found them…well, he'd have to defend the King to his dying breath.
He swept his gaze around the area, then stood and scooped his arms under the King's. Louis yelped and protested but d'Artagnan half dragged, half carried him over to a large tree and settled him into a cleft between the roots. It was the best defensible position they had to work with. He then crouched down in front of the King and unclipped his pistol from his belt, pressing it into Louis's hands, along with the reload packets he had on hand.
"If anyone gets past me," he said gravely.
Louis's eyes were wide and he began shaking his head. "This can't be happening," he bemoaned.
D'Artagnan stood and drew his rapier, stepping to the side to press his back against the tree and stand guard. The woods had already silenced from the King's clamorous fall, so there would be no sudden hush to alert him that the enemy was closing in.
It didn't take them long.
A twig snapped and d'Artagnan straightened. Three men appeared, hardened faces fixed like granite with menace. Louis whimpered softly. D'Artagnan stepped away from the tree as they approached and drew his parrying dagger as well.
"We're only here for the King, boy," one of the men spat. "Step aside."
"No." D'Artagnan raised his blades and charged. The clash of steel rang throughout the forest as swords crossed. D'Artagnan kept himself from attacking with full abandon; he couldn't allow one of the men to get past him and take the King. So for every advance and thrust he made, he danced back two paces to keep all three men within his line of vision. It made him slower than he'd like, but his opponents soon realized they would have to go through him in order to reach their quarry, and they increased the intensity of their attacks.
D'Artagnan spun and pivoted, each blade meeting a different opponent as he blocked and parried. He managed to get past one's guard and stab them in the shoulder, but it gave another an opening to score a slice across his arm. D'Artagnan reeled back and retaliated with a flurry of strikes.
Then his rapier locked with one blade and he only had his parrying dagger to fend off the second, which left him wide open to the third coming at his right. D'Artagnan could only watch out of the corner of his eye as the man came at him.
A pistol shot cracked the air and the assassin fell with a cry. D'Artagnan couldn't spare a glance at the source and twisted out of the collision with the other men, spinning back around to cut the second one down. He had been hoping reinforcements had found them, but there was no battle cry of fierce musketeers coming to his aid, and it took all of his focus to continue dueling the last man standing. His heart sank as he caught sight of more mercenaries rushing toward their position.
His opponent drove him backward a few steps and d'Artagnan tripped, sprawling on his back. He threw his blade up to block a death blow aimed at his throat, deflecting the strike so that it skimmed his cheek instead. The assassin whirled his sword around to try again, and d'Artagnan flung himself to the side, rolling once before surging upward and driving his dagger into the man's side. Then he scrambled up and away to regroup in front of the King, who was fumbling to reload d'Artagnan's pistol.
A musket ball exploded part of the trunk above their heads and d'Artagnan instinctively ducked. His chest heaved as he clutched his weapons with a white-knuckled grip. They were outnumbered and outgunned…
A dragon shrieked overhead. D'Artagnan whipped his gaze up, desperate hope flooding his veins. The assassins faltered, turning their pistols skyward. Not that those piddly weapons would do anything against the silverback that was descending on their position, talons gripping the tops of the trees and thrashing the branches. They broke off like twigs under the dragon's might and Savron came crashing down to the forest floor, fangs bared and nostrils snorting steam. He screeched right in the faces of the men, who immediately screamed and turned tail to run. Savron let them go.
D'Artagnan sagged back against a tree. "I'm really glad to see you," he said breathlessly.
Savron gave him what looked like a calculating once-over before tipping his head back and letting out a throaty call. An answering one came from the sky.
D'Artagnan frowned at the riderless saddle. "Where's Athos?"
Savron cocked his head toward the south, and d'Artagnan could only guess that meant he was coming, so he thought it better to wait rather than hauling the King onto the dragon's back and trying to fly back to the palace. Louis had had enough frights for the day.
D'Artagnan still kept his weapons in hand, just in case any of the assassins decided to come back and brave the dragon, but by the occasional roars that echoed overhead, that seemed unlikely. It was a good fifteen minutes before reinforcements finally arrived, the Musketeer blue cloaks filling d'Artagnan with relief when he caught sight of them riding toward their position.
"Your Majesty!" Treville shouted, leaping from his horse and hurrying to the King's side.
"His ankle needs attention," d'Artagnan immediately reported.
Treville looked over, gaze taking him in for a moment before he gave a sharp nod that could have been part acknowledgement, part commendation.
"D'Artagnan," Porthos's voice boomed next, and a heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder. "Good to see yer in one piece. Not that I doubted it for a second."
Athos and Aramis came up behind him.
"Are you all right?" Aramis asked, scrutinizing him.
D'Artagnan shrugged tiredly. "Still alive." His gaze drifted over their shoulders and he straightened. "Christophe! I saw you fall…"
"I got back up," the other musketeer replied. There was a red-tinged bandage around his bicep. He nodded to d'Artagnan's arm. "Seems you got your own souvenir from this skirmish."
The sting of the sword slice on his arm made itself known now that the adrenaline of the fight was wearing off.
"Let's go," Treville called from where he and some other men had managed to get Louis into a saddle.
D'Artagnan broke into a wide grin when he spotted Beurre among the musketeer horses. He flinched as the movement pulled on the abrasion on his cheek, but it didn't dampen his mood. He walked over to greet his faithful steed. "Hey, girl."
The other musketeers were mounting up on horses as well.
"A good handful of men are still out there," d'Artagnan remembered.
"The dragons will take care of that," Athos replied, nodding to Savron, who took flight without his rider to rejoin the others in the air. "They'll scour the forest and herd the remaining assassins toward the rest of the regiment."
Well, that was good. As much as d'Artagnan might have wanted to help hunt the rest of those mercenaries down, he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed.
He climbed up into Beurre's saddle and the group started to make their way back to the palace. They returned to a frenzied state of affairs, word of the attack having spread. The Musketeers had to escort the King directly to the door and see him safely within the palace walls, so d'Artagnan didn't separate in order to find that much-needed rest; he would see this duty through. Doctor Lemay was waiting in the foyer and immediately surged forward as Treville and Pierre helped Louis limp inside. Servants scrambled about to find a chair and bring it over so the King could sit.
Pattering footsteps heralded the Queen's harried arrival. She was pale and wide-eyed as she rushed to her husband's side, urgently asking Lemay how he was.
"A sprain, nothing more," Lemay assured them both.
The Cardinal swept into the foyer with a swish of his robes. "Your Majesty, thank God you have returned safely."
"Yes," Louis said with only a slight tremor in his voice. "Thanks to my loyal Musketeers."
Richelieu's eye twitched minutely. "These assassins will be hunted down and punished to the full extent of justice," he vowed.
"The Musketeers are already seeing to it," Treville put in.
The Cardinal gave a grudging nod. "Good."
The captain finally turned to his men and silently dismissed them. D'Artagnan slogged back out to his horse and pulled himself up into the saddle once more to make the short ride back to the garrison. Once there, Aramis directed both him and Christophe to the infirmary. Their wounds were minor and could be tended by the regiment's resident medic since Doctor Lemay would be occupied with the King for a while.
Aramis saw to Christophe first, and Athos took it upon himself to help clean the cuts d'Artagnan had sustained.
"You did well," the older man said.
D'Artagnan looked up at the note of praise in his mentor's voice.
"You acted with the full courage and honor of a musketeer," Athos added.
D'Artagnan couldn't help it, he beamed. Hopefully one day he would bear the name he'd worked so hard to uphold.
.o.0.o.
Richelieu entered his private prayer room and turned to the shadows expectantly. Milady stepped out from the darkness like an eidolon made manifest from the inky curtain clinging to the edges of her dress.
"I trust your journey back to Paris was uneventful," he said stiffly.
"Yes," she replied with the properly demure tone.
"Good."
It had been inconvenient not having her at his immediate disposal, and he hoped the distance from Paris and whatever vendetta she seemed to hold against the Musketeer Athos had diminished her previous rebellious tendencies.
"I have a task now that you are back," he went on.
"Oh?"
"One of the nobles has conspired to kill the King. I need you to deliver his sentence of eternal damnation."
"Why is he not being charged with treason?" she asked.
"There is no evidence of his involvement—yet. But it's only a matter of time before the hired assassins are apprehended and one of them exposes the Comte."
She gave Richelieu a simpering moue. "And such exposure could lead back to you?"
He shot her a sharp glower. "I would not make such a move against the King." He pursed his mouth in thought. "At least not without an heir to secure the throne. No, unfortunately, this witless oaf of a Comte thought he was doing me a favor. He misconstrued a passing comment as a secret code that it was my will to see Louis out of the picture."
Milady arched a delicate brow.
Richelieu strode toward her. "So I need him to be silenced quickly."
She nodded and took a step back into the shadows that wreathed her like a velvet mantle. "It will be done."
.o.0.o.
D'Artagnan smiled as Constance set a bowl of soup in front of him. "You don't have to fuss. I'm fine."
"I'm not fussing," she protested. "And you were almost killed."
D'Artagnan reached out and snaked an arm around her waist as she turned away, arresting her retreat. His expression sobered. "Are you…having second thoughts? About me. About loving a soldier."
Constance sighed and leaned her hip against the table. She raised a hand and trailed a finger lightly down the edge of the abrasion on his face. "I love you."
"But to marry…" he persisted. "There are safer men to have as a husband."
"That'd be rather boring," she huffed, but there was a glint of sincere concern in her eyes. "What would you do?" she asked seriously. "If you didn't become a musketeer?"
D'Artagnan's mouth turned down. It wasn't that he hadn't given it any thought; it was just that he hadn't found himself an answer. This was what he wanted, more than anything. He couldn't live as though it wouldn't come true.
Constance gave him a sympathetic look. "That's what I thought."
D'Artagnan tightened his hold around her waist. "If I had to choose, between you and the Musketeers…"
She shook her head adamantly, cutting him off. "I wouldn't ask you to. I understand what that life entails. But it's part of who you are and why I love you." She leaned down to kiss him, and d'Artagnan once again marveled at how he'd ever managed to attain a love like hers.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Constance pulled back ruefully and went to answer it.
"Christophe," she greeted in surprise.
D'Artagnan stood up from the table and made his way over. The musketeer tipped his hat with his good arm, his other in a sling.
"D'Artagnan, your presence is requested at the palace."
He exchanged a startled look with Constance but grabbed his coat and slipped into it. "Do you know what it's in regards to?" he asked.
"Can't say," was Christophe's cryptic reply.
D'Artagnan flashed another look at Constance as he hurried to follow Christophe out. The musketeer said little on their trek to the palace, and d'Artagnan began to wonder if he was in trouble for something. He'd done his best protecting the King…was he being blamed for the injury Louis took?
His stomach began twisting into knots the closer they came to the palace. When Christophe led him into the throne room, he didn't know whether to be relieved or even more nervous at the sight of Athos, Aramis, and Porthos assembled in their uniforms and standing at attention along the wall. Captain Treville was there as well, looking stern as usual. D'Artagnan forced his head high as he approached the throne. The King and Queen were seated on the dais, a small stool placed in front of Louis to keep his ankle elevated. D'Artagnan bowed before them.
"D'Artagnan," the King began. "You defended me with great heroism in the forest. I admire loyalty, more than any other virtue."
D'Artagnan straightened with a surge of pride and sliver of eager anticipation.
"Please kneel," Louis went on, gesturing to the bottom of the dais.
D'Artagnan moved forward anxiously and knelt at the King's feet. Louis held out his hand expectantly, and Captain Treville drew his sword to pass over.
"I hereby commission you," Louis tapped the blade against each of d'Artagnan's shoulders, "into my regiment of Musketeers."
D'Artagnan couldn't hold back the shaky laugh of pure, unadulterated joy at the pronouncement. His heart was pounding and his palms turned sweaty. He almost couldn't believe it.
Athos stepped forward with a leather pauldron in his hands, which he fitted over d'Artagnan's arm and shoulder. He clapped d'Artagnan on the back before moving away again.
D'Artagnan looked down at the shiny, brand new leather with the fleur-de-lis crest, representing all of his hopes and dreams that were now suddenly within reach. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
"May you serve it always with the same distinction I witnessed that day." Louis nodded, and d'Artagnan slowly rose to his feet and stepped back with a bow. With a gesture, the King dismissed the assembly.
D'Artagnan turned to find Aramis had come up behind him, and he reached out to clasp his hand, but then couldn't help but hug the man, who from day one had gone out of his way to help d'Artagnan work his way toward this very moment. Aramis hugged back and patted him on the back. Porthos was next, the large musketeer chuckling with delight as he gave d'Artagnan an equally fervent thump.
Athos stood next to them, a rare smile gracing his features. D'Artagnan shook his hand.
"Well done, d'Artagnan," Treville spoke up. "I'm proud to have you under my command."
D'Artagnan clasped his captain's hand and shook it earnestly. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
He was overwhelmed with emotion. Never had he felt such pride, such humbleness, such elation that he truly didn't know what to do with himself in that moment. Fortunately his friends seemed to notice, and Aramis slung an arm over his shoulders and started directing him out of the room lest he embarrass himself.
"Now you've got to work toward the rank of dragon rider," the marksman said. "Athos holds the record for how quickly he climbed the ranks. Let's see if you can beat it."
D'Artagnan shook his head, grinning giddily. Dragon rider was his long-term goal, but he didn't think anything could top what he was feeling in this moment. He was a musketeer. He was worthy.
And then his eyes lit up with the subsequent revelation of finally having his commission. "I have to tell Constance!"
His friends burst into understanding laughs.
Yes, this was one of the best moments of his life.
NEXT TIME
Milady makes her final move against Athos and his friends.