As promised, I'm back with another story after some gentle prompting from past readers (thank you for that). This was started after Episode 2.02, so is canon-compliant up to that point and then diverges hopelessly...hope that doesn't keep folks from enjoying.

His ribs creaked and ached in a most discomfiting way, but there was no time to think about that now. There was precious little time for him to make his escape so he clamped his jaw down more tightly against the sounds of pain that threatened to alert the guards to their position, resolutely following Porthos as they navigated the confusing labyrinth of tunnels. The larger man was as good as his word and minutes later he'd unerringly led them outside where d'Artagnan got his first breath of fresh air after several long days of captivity. The moon was high in the sky and cast deep shadows around the courtyard, further aiding them in their efforts to remain hidden from prying eyes. They kept to the outside walls where the darkness was deepest, d'Artagnan's breaths coming now in labored pants as he struggled to keep up with the Musketeer in front of him who seemed to effortlessly blend and prowl through the blackness with a speed and agility the Gascon currently envied.

When at last they slipped through a small gate, Porthos turned and barricaded it firmly behind them, grasping the young man's upper arm as he chivvied them forward, first along the outside walls and then making a dash for the forested area, almost pulling a cry of pain from the Gascon's lips as his fragile ribcage was jostled with every step. Porthos continued to pull him forward another 100 meters beyond the treeline, where they finally stopped, d'Artagnan leaning over his knees as much as his ribs allowed as he caught his breath. Once he felt like his heart was no longer about to beat a path out of his chest, he looked up into the faces of his friends, Aramis' with a welcoming grin on his face and Athos', a sterner expression born of worry. The latter man stepped forward and the other two naturally drew back a step, allowing them a moment of privacy. With a hand on the young man's shoulder, Athos peered at him in the dim light and asked, "Are you alright?"

The intensity of the man's gaze almost had d'Artagnan turning away, but he forced himself to stand firm as he replied, "I'm fine, Athos."

Athos glanced at Porthos who stepped forward once more as he pointed to the young man's left side. "Ribs, not sure if they're broken or just badly bruised."

Athos gave a short nod, returning a pointed look to the Gascon who rolled his eyes at Porthos' betrayal, "They're fine, Athos, just bruised, I think. It's all been just bruises. Apparently they're too worried about saving me for the hangman to do anything more."

Athos stared at him for several seconds more, seemingly to discern the truth of the young man's words before he looked away, dropping his head to his chest for a moment as he drew a steadying breath. When he looked up, the soldier had reasserted himself and d'Artagnan found himself instinctively straightening his shoulders. "Aramis, if you please," Athos asked, his words clipped and precise, and the medic stepped forward. With an apologetic smile, he reached for the Gascon's shirt and with a last glance at the boy's face to confirm he had permission to proceed, pulled the hem of the shirt upwards to expose his bruised ribcage. As Aramis expertly pressed on d'Artagnan's ribs, Athos was busy speaking, "We've a horse ready for you and you'll find provisions in the saddlebags. There's a map as well and a letter from the Captain which you'll present to Madame Trémaux. Keep to the back roads and don't risk a fire. We'll send word once we've cleared your name."

d'Artagnan grimaced and then gasped as Aramis' fingers found a particularly sore spot, and he reached for the medic's hand, pulling it away from his flank. "Sorry," Aramis mumbled, stepping away and nodding to Athos – nothing was broken, although the medic was fairly certain that one or more of the ribs might be cracked.

The Gascon turned his glare on the older Musketeer, "I'm not running!"

The three men traded looks, communicating silently about the young man's stubbornness and prideful nature, having feared exactly this reaction. "Lad, there's nothing else to be done. If you stay, they'll hang you before we can clear you. We'll find the evidence but you need to buy us some time," Porthos pleaded.

"Porthos is right, d'Artagnan," Aramis agreed, laying a hand on the young man's shoulder. "There is no shame in fleeing so that we may prove your innocence. The real crime would be allowing you to hang for something you didn't do."

d'Artagnan was clearly torn, looking from one man to the next, eyes finally landing on his mentor. "Athos?" he asked, his voice thin and needy.

"Run, d'Artagnan," Athos replied, his voice hoarse and low. "Please."

The young man swallowed thickly at the anguish in the older man's face; his mentor was begging him to leave and d'Artagnan found that he could not resist his request. He gave a shaky nod in reply, Porthos clapping him on the back as soon as he'd agreed. He followed them a few feet away where a nervous mount stood waiting for him and he looked at his friends once more, drinking in their faces as though a man lost in the desert. Porthos grasped him firmly in both arms, giving him a slightly gentler version of his bone-jarring hug in deference to his ribs. "Stay safe," he whispered into the embrace.

Aramis was next, pulling him in close and simply holding him for several seconds before pushing him away, still holding onto the Gascon's arms as he said, "Protect those ribs." Last came Athos, a man who seldom sought human contact but who was now gripping the young man fiercely, pulling d'Artagnan's head forward with a hand so it rested in the crook of his neck. Turning his head, he breathed out a quiet plea, "Stay alive." d'Artagnan nodded and Athos held him for a few moments longer, obviously as unwilling as the boy to part. When they finally did, the Gascon took a last look at his friends as he spoke, "Thank you." With that, he pulled himself onto the mount and wheeled it around, the three men moving away to give him room. Without a backward glance, he kicked the horse into motion, making his way out of the woods and on his way to being a fugitive.

Several weeks earlier…

d'Artagnan's face held a broad smile as he crossed the garrison courtyard, seeing his friends already waiting for him at their usual table. The last few months had been challenging, first with the Captain's refusal to be promoted by the King and thus abandoning his position as Captain of the Musketeers, followed swiftly by Rochefort's return and installment as the new Captain of the Red Guards, and most recently the experience of having defended his King, only to have the man try to reward him by making him an executioner to a man who'd been promised clemency. Overall, he'd found the experience incredibly distasteful, the King's act of reneging on his promise a cowardly and dishonorable deed. The others didn't seem to be as troubled as he was by the event, having learned through experience that the King was an arrogant and immature man, driven by a need for adoration and accolades and possessing a spine that was as flexible as a sapling, making him easy to intimidate and manipulate. d'Artagnan's refusal to kill the criminal, coupled with the King's insistence that it was the Musketeers rather than his own will which had led him into trouble, signalled a shifting of the prevailing winds, and it would be a moment that they looked back on, in hindsight, as the point when their fortunes began to change.

As he sat down at the table and helped himself to some food, his three friends greeted him and d'Artagnan thanked his stars once more for his good fortune in finding men as loyal and honorable as these with which to align himself. He would readily admit that the garrison was full of honorable men, but the commitment that existed between these four was unique, a fact that was acknowledged by everyone who crossed their paths. d'Artagnan swallowed a mouthful, watching as Aramis cleaned his pistol, an act that the Gascon would be willing to wager was completely unnecessary. "Have you actually fired it since you cleaned it last?" he asked, a look of mirth on his face.

Porthos snorted, matching the grin on the young man's face as Aramis smiled sweetly, "d'Artagnan, how many times must I tell you…"

He was interrupted as Porthos and d'Artagnan spoke together, "Take care of your weapon and it will take care of you."

The men broke out in laughter as they finished, Aramis spluttering in mock indignation at having his words thrown back at him, while Athos graced them with a rare smile at their antics. Treville stood on the balcony outside his office, quietly observing the men and glad to see them finally enjoying themselves. He'd watched as a dark cloud had hovered over them for weeks now as d'Artagnan brooded and the other three worked to cajole, poke and prod him into a better mood. Today, the clear blue skies and bright sunshine of early fall seemed to have accomplished what his friends could not, and the Captain was pleased to see the return of the young man they'd grown to like and admire.

When the laughter had died down, he called out to Athos, indicating to the man his desire to see them all in his office. Athos nodded in reply before turning to the rest and a minute later the group were presenting themselves to the Captain. "His Majesty is restless and has decided to travel to Fontainebleau for a hunt. You four will accompany me and six others to the lodge where we'll overnight, then spend the next two days hoping the King can remain quiet enough to shoot something, before travelling back. Pack what you'll need for a week away just in case he changes his mind again and wants to stay longer. We'll depart for the palace in an hour." The four men ducked their heads in acknowledgement before exiting the office, and moments later their heavy footfalls could be heard on the stairs as they descended.

The men were quick to prepare their things and were ready and waiting, with their horses saddled, by the time Treville joined them. He glanced at the group of men briefly, nodding in satisfaction before mounting his horse and leading them out through the garrison gates. In truth, Treville hated the many potential hazards that presented themselves when the King left the palace. The roads between Paris and Fontainebleau were rutted from previous travellers and surrounded on both sides by trees that could hide a multitude of dangers. There was the need to cross the Seine and the bridge had washed out more times than the Captain cared to recall, not to mention how the waters rose with the rain, flooding their banks and capturing anything in their path. As this thought crossed his mind, Treville gave thanks for the dry, sunny weather – flooding would be one less concern unless things changed dramatically.

The ride to Fontainebleau was accomplished before nightfall and, due to the frequency of the King's hunts during the summer months, the hunting lodge was still fully staffed and provisioned, a rare treat for the Musketeers who were used to little luxury as part of their duties. Their role throughout the journey and the days spent hunting had been to guard the King and his guest, in this instance the Duc de Nemours. As they rode now, on their last day of hunting, Treville reflected on the King's eagerness to squeeze in as many hunts as he could, before rutting season made it too dangerous to pursue his favorite quarry, the deer. Of course, his Majesty was not satisfied with just any deer, but sought the grand stags who had by now grown their impressive antlers and were prized by the nobles who undertook hunting as a serious pastime. They rode today in the direction indicated by the huntsman, the King chatting happily with the Duc, completely oblivious to the fact that any errant deer in their path would undoubtedly be scared away by the incessant talking and laughter emanating from himself and his guest. The Captain rode at the King's right side, while the Duc rode on the other, and Treville struggled to keep a pleasant but neutral expression on his face as the noble offered another shallow compliment at the King's latest statement. Athos and d'Artagnan rode in front of the King, while Porthos and Aramis protected their rear, additional Musketeers deployed both at the head and back of their convey but further out so they could barely be spotted through the trees.

As the men at the lead spotted the King's quarry, they pulled their horses to a standstill, waiting for the royal to approach, Athos trading a look with one of the Musketeers at the front to confirm that no danger lie ahead. As they'd anticipated, the King's loud laughter had the deer ahead of them lifting its head and, before his Majesty could fire his harquebus, the stag was bounding quickly through the trees, spoiling his shot. A look of disappointment crossed the King's face, giving the royal the appearance of a pouting child, a thought Treville quickly dismissed from his mind lest it show on his face.

Instead, the Captain leaned forward to peer through the trees, confirming that no indication of the deer remained, and reassured the King before the man could fall into one of his whining rants, "A shame, your Majesty. My apologies if my men's presence startled him." The Musketeers knew the Captain's words were false but the King was akin to a spoiled youngster, whose mercurial moods needed to be satiated and soothed, lest the man take his dissatisfaction out on those around him.

The Duc added his own words to the mix, calling attention to the King's earlier success the day prior when he'd downed an impressive 10-point stag, which Treville was certain would end up adorning one of the walls at the palace or the lodge at Fontainebleau. Seemingly placated, the King waved a hand in dismissal, sniffing slightly as he said, "Your men will need to learn to be quieter, Treville. Fortunately there's no harm done."

With that, the mood shifted again and the King dug his heels into the flanks of his horse, nudging him forward as he turned to the Duc and began regaling him with another story of his previous hunting exploits. Treville caught Athos' eye up ahead who gave a quick nod before nudging his own horse into motion, the Musketeers ahead and behind him following suit. It was no surprise that no other deer was spotted that day but the King seemed content with his time spent in the woods and was focused on enjoying his dinner by the time they arrived back at the hunting lodge. The Captain sighed in relief at the knowledge that they would depart Fontainebleau the next day, returning to the relative safety of the city walls.

The next day they were on the road home early, the King and his guest riding in the carriage, while the Musketeers once more surrounded them. They had been travelling for only an hour, not yet having made their way out of the forest of Fontainebleau when a cry was heard from the inside of the carriage, the vehicle coming to an abrupt stop at the King's command. Treville pulled his horse close to the conveyance, leaning closer to speak with the royal, "Your Majesty, is everything alright?"

The King was standing at the door to the carriage, already pulling it open as he pointed to a spot in the trees, "There, a stag. Get me a weapon."

The Captain sighed internally at the royal's impulsiveness and knew the man would not be dissuaded, it being easier to allow him to take a shot rather than attempting to convince him to remain in the carriage. He motioned to Athos who in turn waved at Aramis, the sharpshooter bringing his horse forward to hand a loaded and primed harquebus to the Captain. Treville passed the weapon to the King who was already stepping forward, anxious to make his way slowly through the trees. Athos threw a glance to d'Artagnan who had dismounted, passing his reins to Porthos, lest the horse be spooked by the coming shot. He fell in beside and slightly behind the King, Athos and Aramis dismounting behind him as the two moved further away from the group and became lost in the trees. The stag had moved further away but the royal was determined and continued forward, the Gascon glancing briefly behind him to confirm that his two friends were still following them.

Gauging the distance between them and the now stationary stag, d'Artagnan whispered lowly, pausing his forward motion as they stood at the edge of the clearing in which the deer was eating. "This is close enough, your Majesty, we don't want to scare him before you can take your shot."

The King considered for a moment before nodding, bringing the harquebus up and aiming. As his finger closed around the trigger, the deer lifted its head, brown eyes staring directly at them, giving the men a view of the impressive but dangerous antlers that adorned its head. Seconds passed, d'Artagnan watching the beast closely as it sniffed the air, waiting to see if it would move or if the King was going to shoot. The moment was broken as the stag recognized their scent, confirming the danger that now threatened its life. Instinct propelled the animal into motion toward them, the King discharging his weapon in fear and missing the deer as it bounded in their direction. d'Artagnan saw the danger immediately and pushed the royal ahead of him, yelling, "Run, your Majesty!"

Sparing a quick look behind him, the Gascon could see the fearsome stag merely meters behind, closing the gap quickly with each bounding step. Ahead, he caught a glimpse of Athos and Aramis, the latter stopping to aim his second harquebus, but it was uncertain whether or not his shot would be in time. Sensing the animal nearly upon them, d'Artagnan threw himself forward, tackling the King to the ground and throwing himself on top of the man. Moments later he felt the punishing force of the stag's antlers against his left shoulder, pressing himself further into the man below him, determined to protect the royal at all costs. A shot sounded and he was vaguely aware of shouting as the weight was suddenly gone from his left side. Moments later, he felt himself manhandled, rolled away from the King and onto the ground.

"Your Majesty," Athos spoke to the royal, examining him quickly before offering a hand and raising the man to his feet. The man was clearly shaken, his face ashen as he looked down at the Musketeer laying on the ground at his feet.

"What happened?" the King asked, eyes darting now between Athos and Aramis before moving to Treville who was just joining them.

"The stag attacked, your Majesty. Had it not been for d'Artagnan's swift actions, you might have been gored by the beast," Aramis explained, responding politely though he wanted nothing more than to drop to d'Aragnan's side. "With your permission?" he pointed to the Gascon who still hadn't made any attempt to move.

The King gave a distracted wave of his hand as he turned on Treville, already moving toward the commanding officer. "This is an outrage, Treville. Your man spoiled my shot and allowed the beast to attack us."

A quick glance to Athos, who gave a small shake of his head, disproved the royal's statement, but arguing with the King did not bode well for one's lifespan so the Captain merely nodded, doing his best to placate him so he could be removed from the woods and the others could tend their friend in peace. "Come, your Majesty, let's get you back to your carriage where you'll be more comfortable." He led the man away, catching a glimpse of Athos and Aramis dropping to their knees next to their fallen friend as he left.

Aramis was already leaning over the young man, tapping one cheek as he attempted to wake the boy. "d'Artagnan, open your eyes for me. Athos is getting worried." The older man threw a minor glare in his direction, but Aramis merely shrugged unrepentantly.

d'Artagnan had only been stunned and his eyes opened immediately to peer up at his two friends, noting their matching looks of worry. "The King?" he asked.

"Fine, thanks to you," Aramis answered, having already decided that the man's ungrateful words didn't need to be shared at that moment. "Where are you hurt?"

The Gascon began to make motions to sit up, only to find Aramis' hand on his chest pushing him down. Scowling at his friend, he explained, "It will be far easier for you to examine my back if I'm not laying on it."

Understanding dawned in the medic's eyes and he and Athos each grasped an arm as they gently pulled the young man to a sitting position. Aramis moved behind him while Athos continued to grip the boy's arm, keeping him steady. Wanting to distract his protégé from a potentially painful examination, Athos questioned, "What happened out there?"

d'Artagnan grimaced as he replied, "I think we got too close and the stag caught our scent. The King was slow to shoot and by the time he did, the beast was already moving toward us. It was all I could do to get him running and protect him until you killed it." Looking around uncertainly, he asked, "Did you kill it?"

Athos shook his head, "Aramis will tell you later that the sun was in his eyes, but he missed. Fortunately it was enough to startle the animal into leaving and it ran off."

"A moving target is a difficult one to hit, and I doubt you could have done much better," Aramis stated tersely as he worried over their youngest. "Doublet off, please," Aramis ordered, hand already reaching over the young man's shoulder to tug at the lacing.

d'Artagnan batted at his hand and the medic retracted it, only to find Athos' fingers now unlacing it. "I can do it myself, you know," the Gascon grumbled, but allowed Athos to continue, and then submitted to his help as the doublet was pulled down and off his left arm, revealing his shoulder and back.

Aramis was already reaching into the neck of the young man's shift, pulling the fabric away from his shoulder before releasing it to tug at the bottom of his shirt instead. d'Artagnan bore the examination quietly, rolling his eyes at his friend's actions. Finally, he felt the hem of his shirt drop and Aramis moved to his side. "You were exceptionally lucky. Your skin wasn't pierced and no bones were broken, but you will have some spectacular bruising by tonight."

d'Artagnan nodded, unsurprised by the medic's findings as he really didn't feel too bad. "Can you ride?" Athos asked, still concerned about the young man's health.

Another nod had the two men standing and then helping the Gascon to his feet. Athos kept his hand on the boy's arm for a moment until he was confident that young man was steady, then released him to follow the two back to their horses. Treville was once more on his mount and the King's complaining could be heard from inside the carriage. The Captain caught Athos' eye as they approached and received a nod from his lieutenant, confirming that d'Artagnan was alright. He motioned to the men at the front of their convoy and they began to move, the carriage following in their wake, Treville comfortable that the other four would follow and take position behind them. As soon as the King was out of earshot, Porthos called out to d'Artagnan who was being helped onto his horse by Aramis, "You alright?"

"I'm fine, Porthos, nothing more than a few bruises," d'Artagnan grumbled, annoyed at his friends' overprotectiveness. Porthos glanced to Aramis receiving a nod in return, which did not go unnoticed by the Gascon. "Really?" he threw his hands up in frustration. "Why does no one believe me when I say I'm fine?"

Porthos gave him a wide grin as they kicked their horses into motion, the large man sidling up to ride beside the Gascon, "We believe you about a lot of things, just not anything related to your health."

Aramis joined in the teasing, pulling a groan from d'Artagnan as their easy banter began, knowing that it would be a while before the men allowed him to forget his most recent mishap.

To be continued...