The Dauphine

Chaos reigned.

Shots were fired and returned, the clash of steel on steel, the cries and shouts of many men, the acrid smell of fear and gunpowder filling the air. D'Artagnan let it all wash over him, drawing in desperate lungful's of air as he made sure the three men at his feet weren't getting up anytime soon. He took a moment to orientate himself in the chaos of the unexpected battle. A long summer's afternoon peace had been shattered by a large group of men, heavily armed, ordered and trained, frightening in the sheer intensity. He could see that the king and queen were safe, surrounded by a group of musketeers close to the royal tent, Treville and Athos amongst them, fending off the last of the men near them. He quickly found Aramis and Porthos, still fighting over to his left at the far end of the pageant field, closer to their Majesties than d'Artagnan who had been patrolling on the east, across the pageant area and away from them. The fighting was gradually calming, the well trained musketeers and king's soldiers gaining the upper hand.

The sudden series of explosions that rocked the field caught everyone by surprise, men and body parts suddenly falling from the sky, d'Artagnan finding himself on his back, blinking at the sky with no knowledge of how he had got there. The silence was sudden, complete and deeply perturbed him; a ringing in his ear taking residence telling him how close he was to the explosion. He slowly shifted up onto his elbows, feeling the deep ache from the shock wave as he tried to look around.

Smoke, thick and bellowing, making him cough blocked his view. He felt slow, like the smoke was more solid than it should be and causing him to move sluggishly. A scream interrupted the ringing, sounding distant and faraway. D'Artagnan managed to turn his head, seeing the governess crying in alarm, her look away from the pageant and on the trees, the toddler Dauphin wailing in her arms. Trying to find the Dauphin's guard, d'Artagnan finally saw the 2 Red Guard, swords out, looking confused as they scanned the area. Moving his head more, he could see movement in the trees and understood the governess's alarm. This was never an attempt to get the king and queen; the fighting, the explosions were all distraction to get to the Dauphin.

Clarity was beginning to return, noise coming in and out between the ceaseless ringing. Adrenaline kicked in, blanking pain and giving force to the movement, propelling him with intent upwards and through the clearing smoke. The musketeer horses were trained so they hadn't scattered with the explosions, and d'Artagnan ran for one, not caring whose horse he jumped on. He geed up the horse, the colt responding immediately to his command and running. He could see the men sneaking closer, the 2 Red Guard moving to intercept their path to the crying governess and he dug his heels in more, knowing he had to get there first. The governess, tears still streaming down her face saw him approaching, and with a wit that d'Artagnan wasn't sure she would have, turned to him, the small toddler held out to him.

D'Artagnan barely dared to slow down, reaching down and snagging the toddler, deliberately blanking from his mind that he just grasped the future king of France with one hand whilst cantering on horseback, and that he had likely just left his governess to die.

He headed right. Behind him, the explosions which had proved such effective distractions blocked his path back to their majesties and the safety of the rest of the musketeers. He had no way of knowing if there was more, and couldn't risk riding through smoke too thick to see if anyone lurked within. He'd already seen the would-be kidnappers jumping into the saddles to follow as he veered right heading to the lower edge of the forest, hoping to disappear amongst the dense foliage.

The trees cloaked him immediately, forcing him to slow to not much more than a walk to avoid riding into a tree. He headed deep, not knowing if there were more men within the forest, or how many were on horseback following him. In his arms, the young prince held onto his jacket with a desperate grip, his head buried within the cape d'Artagnan wore, his shoulders regularly shuddering but he was mercifully quiet. D'Artagnan kept an arm around him, the other hand steady on the reigns, as his desperate thoughts sought a way clear of this.

As his hearing cleared more, he could hear the distance sound of horses' hooves through the forest. They would catch him; there was no time to hide his trail, or set a fake one. He was heading away from Versailles palace; out of necessity, of course, but he was heading away from the obvious place of safety.

And he was alone.

With the Dauphin.

He allowed himself one moment to flounder in the sheer impossible-ness of the situation before getting busy with a plan.

He kept it simple. His head wanted to pound, his body wanted to ache but he wouldn't let them complain at the moment. He could try and run; it was definitely one option but he didn't know how long he could keep ahead of the pursuers.

Or he could turn and fight.

Running away had never felt natural to d'Artagnan. He'd never turned his back on a fight before, even though many times Athos said he should have done. This was one fight that was inevitable, though. And d'Artagnan could either plan for it, or he could allow himself to be caught on horseback with the heir to the French throne still in his arms.

Decision made, d'Artagnan brought the horse to a slow walk. 'Your Highness?' He asked the small toddler. He waited for the prince to look up at him, his eyes red and bloodshot and hopeful, staring up at him. D'Artagnan had to swallow for a moment before he could ask in a relatively normal voice 'Have you ever played hide and seek?'

The three bandits that brought their horses to a screeching halt certainly looked surprised when they happened upon the musketeer, off horseback and facing them with a rapier in one hand and a short sword in the other.

They dismounted, one of them with a pistol in hand, the other two armed with swords. 'Well, well, well.' The oldest of the three, and the shortest by a head brandished the gun with relish, obviously enjoying the whole spectacle. 'A musketeer. All alone. Where's your pauldron gone? Lost it in the forest?'

D'Artagnan let the words wash over him without reacting.

'Tell us where the Dauphin is, and we'll make it quick.'

'Quick is so overrated.' D'Artagnan said with a grim smile. 'Some things are better slow.'

'Believe me, musketeer, when it comes to death, it is not overrated.'

'Unlike your ego.'

'Where is the Dauphin?'

'Not here.' D'Artagnan said dismissively.

The pistol whipped around, the shot coming loose in anger, d'Artagnan easily dancing away from the close quarter shot, hearing it thud into a tree. He took the advantage, knowing that it would take too long for the bandit to reload, getting in a strike with the sword, cutting a deep welt into the man's sword hand before stepping quickly round and parrying with the short sword the rapier strike of the man on his left.

One against three was never an easy fight but d'Artagnan could claim some experience. Often he'd gone up against The Three Inseparables in what they'd called training, and he'd called it having fun at his expense. D'Artagnan kept his movements economical, keeping his feet moving but keeping the fight contained in one small movement area, allowing the three to come at him, naturally restricting their movements and not allowing them all to come at him at once. He didn't have time to think, to plan the moves, could only allow his body to naturally go through the motions that he knew so well.

He lost his short sword, implanted in the heart of one of the bandits; a worthy price to pay to decrease their number by a third. He took several hits, the pain lost in the adrenaline. He eventually got into a position to plunge his sword into another, quickly detracting it but not in time to stop the leader, who had mostly let the other two carry the fight, from tripping him, bringing the tip of his sword to rest at d'Artagnan's exposed throat, standing firmly on his sword arm to keep it still. 'Tell me where the Dauphin is.'

'I told you, he's not here.' D'Artagnan said with difficulty, desperate not to swallow and accidently cut himself. He tried, unsuccessfully, to wrestle his arm free; the bandit grounding his heel into his arm till d'Artagnan couldn't help the cry that left his lips.

'There's more where that came from.' The bandit said, leaning down so he knew he had d'Artagnan's full attention. 'Now tell me where the Dauphin is.'

'Never.'

The bandit ground his heel in more, carefully scoring a line with the tip of his sword across d'Artagnan's exposed throat, the cut stinging madly, the intent perfectly clear. 'Where's the boy?' He hissed.

D'Artagnan muttered something.

'What was that?' the bandit leant down towards him, the pressure lifting on his arm slightly. D'Artagnan muttered again, drawing the bandit further down in his desperation to hear of the Dauphin's location. D'Artagnan willed himself into patience, knowing he had to time it perfectly. He spoke a little louder, the bandit desperate enough to finally move the sword away from his throat. D'Artagnan didn't pause, lifting his body in one, knocking his head straight into the bandit's nose with as much force as he could muster.

Warm blood spurted over his face from the bandit's broken nose. The howl echoed in the trees, causing birds to take flight. D'Artagnan's vision dimmed briefly, the ring returning to his ears as he fought to stay conscious, knowing now was not the time to sink into oblivion. He managed to get to his feet, staggering only slightly as he turned on the bandit who had fallen to his knees. A swift kick to the head had him headfirst into a tree, knocking the bandit unconscious.

For a moment it was all d'Artagnan could do to stand, swaying in the sudden silence, swiping at the stinging cut on his neck, pleased to see that there wasn't much blood. He was finding it difficult to comprehend that he lived still. More importantly, the bandits had not discovered the Dauphin. Thinking on the young boy, d'Artagnan couldn't be anything but impressed that the young toddler had remained silent throughout the fight.

He'd hidden him in the hollow of the tree about 20 meters from where he had stood to wait, the tree in his eyesight and behind the bandits. A risky strategy, but it had worked. The bandits, as d'Artagnan hoped, had never thought to look behind them.

As he walked back to the tree, d'Artagnan wondered on the young prince. He saw him around the palace from time to time, but rarely had anything to do with him. Mainly he was seen with his governess, kept away from the spot light of official royal duties.

He hadn't known what to expect when he had lowered the boy down into the base of the tree. The young prince had clung to his jacket, not letting him rise. In all honesty, d'Artagnan did consider hiding with him, covering them both up and hoping for the best. But d'Artagnan knew that they would be discovered in a heartbeat, that he couldn't hide them well enough that even a stupid kidnapper would stop looking. So he'd gently removed the little hands, gripping them with his instead and forcing the young boy away enough to look into his eyes. 'You're going to hide in here.' He had said, even as a sob had escaped the toddler.

The toddler's expressive brown eyes had watered, and he clung to d'Artagnan, trying to move back into the perceived safety of his arms. 'You're going to hide, and I'm going to count to 100 and come and find you.' D'Artagnan said, keeping his voice firm and full of cheer that he didn't feel. 'I'm going to cover you with my cloak and some leaves to hide you better. We want you to win right?'

The young boy looked at him solemnly, lower lip trembling. 'We're going to win!' D'Artagnan said enthusiastically, and finally the young prince nodded and tried to produce a trembling smile. 'You're going to be as quiet as a mouse, and then no one will find you.' D'Artagnan said cheerfully.

'Mouse!' The young prince suddenly piped up.

'Exactly, quiet as a mouse. Can you do that?'

Another nod, but much more convincing this time.

Thinking quickly, d'Artagnan let go of the toddler's hand, and quickly unstrapped the pauldron on his shoulder, handing it over. 'You're going to look after this, ok?' The prince grasped it in one hand, still looking solemnly up at d'Artagnan. 'If someone comes looking for you, and they're wearing one, that's ok.' The young prince had let go of both of d'Artagnan's hands now, taken hold of the pauldron with both hands, tracing the indentations in the leather. 'Sire, you are only to come out if you hear me, or see another man wearing one of these.' D'Artagnan repeated 'Do you understand?'

The young boy had looked solemnly up at him then did something that d'Artagnan didn't think he'd ever forget. 'Mukteer' He'd proclaimed with a smile.

'Exactly.' D'Artagnan said, returning the smile. 'You'll look after my pauldron for me?'

'Mukteer.' The boy said with another smile.

'Yes. Now you must keep silent. Completely silent.'

Then he'd buried the future king of France in the hollowed out base of the tree. He'd tucked him under the cape, then smeared it quickly with leaves and mud to try and camouflage it. Under a cursory glance it blended in, but more than that and d'Artagnan knew it would be easily discovered.

He pulled the cape free now, scattering mud and leaves, finding the small boy almost exactly where he'd left him, pauldron grasped in his hand, staring up at d'Artagnan with wide, fearful eyes.

D'Artagnan briefly wondered what he looked like now. 'It's ok, sire, it's just me, just d'Artagnan.'

The boy looked at him doubtfully. 'It's just me. D'Artagnan.'

'D'at.' The boy finally repeated. 'Mukteer.'

'Exactly!'

'D'at!' The boy launched himself into d'Artagnan's arms, almost toppling him.

D'Artagnan couldn't help but smile. 'You did very well.'

'I won!' The boy proclaimed, his voice muffled where his head was buried.

'Yes you did. You won. Come on sire, before they start missing you.' He moved to take back his pauldron but two small hands grasped it firmly. 'Ok, you can carry that.'

'Mine!'

'Not quite.'

'Mukteer!'

D'Artagnan found he could still laugh as he got to his feet, the Dauphin in his arms, wrapping his cape around the young boy to fight against the cooling evening breeze. The horse, Porthos's d'Artagnan had realised when he'd dismounted and finally looked at it properly, stood not far off, grazing the floor. D'Artagnan moved to put the Dauphin on the horses' back, but the young toddler bodily flung himself back towards d'Artagnan, clinging to his leather jacket, the pauldron digging into d'Artagnan's neck making him hiss slightly. 'It's ok. I'm coming too.' D'Artagnan said. The young prince replied by clinging tighter. 'Ok then.' D'Artagnan let go of the boy to grasp the reigns one handed, mounting the horse not nearly as gracefully as normal as he adjusted for the young prince in his arms.

The small boy wiggled in his arms, clinging to him in fear at the sudden change in elevation. 'This is Porthos's horse.' D'Artagnan told him quietly, adjusting the prince enough so that he could kick the horse into a steady walk. 'He's called Rollo.' The small head lifted, two curious brown eyes regarded him carefully before looking hesitantly at the horse, the hands not relenting on his jacket. 'He's massive, but he's gentle.' D'Artagnan carried on softly. 'He'll carry us home now.'

'Mama.' The boy spoke softly, his bottom lip wobbling softly.

'Yes, we'll go and find your mama. And your papa.' D'Artagnan said quietly. He briefly allowed his thoughts to stray to what he would be returning to. During the ride through the woods, bandits on their tail, he'd been distracted trying to come up with a way to keep the Dauphin alive. Now his mind wandered to the people he'd left behind at the pageant. The king and queen: the young boy's parents. His best friends and brothers in arms.

His wife.

He had not seen Constance after the fighting had started, had trusted that her position next to the queen meant she was safe with Treville and Athos. Now his mind whirled with worry that he was returning to them all dead. He looked down at the young prince, and knew he couldn't show his fears now, that the young prince was reliant on him to get him home. 'Do you know, Rollo is scared of mice?' D'Artagnan started, telling the young prince tales of the horses to keep him entertained on the long walk back.

Eventually the prince had turned in his arms, still pressed close into the musketeer, but growing brave enough to let go of his hold and pat the horses' mane. D'Artagnan showed him how to hold on to the reigns of the horse, though the prince still refused to let go of the pauldron so could only use one hand. D'Artagnan briefly wondered if he'd ever get the emblem back again. The small boy relaxed enough to start chatting about the horse, d'Artagnan only understanding about 1 word in 5 but joining in where he could.

Night fell as d'Artagnan guided the horse back into the open ground, the other side of the forest from where the pageant had been held. D'Artagnan was glad he'd accompanied Athos yesterday on a ride around the palace grounds. Athos had wanted to be alone, d'Artagnan knew, but he'd used the excuse of only visiting the countryside palace once and then very briefly to accompany the older man and learn the grounds. Athos would never admit it, but by the end he had seemed much more relaxed and d'Artagnan had learned more about the lay of the lands. He recognised the open fields now, the moonlight giving them an ethereal glow.

The young prince had fallen silent, and d'Artagnan looked down at him now with the improved light. The young boy was snuggled into him, grasping hold of d'Artagnan's arm that was around him with one hand, the pauldron still held tight in his other hand, and was blinking sleep filled eyes as he gazed around. D'Artagnan smiled at the sight as he kicked the horse up a gear, feeling weary and the pain he'd been ignoring till then gradually growing more forceful in its desire for attention.

Most of it was the ache from being forced off his feet in the explosion, but a few stings reminded him of the glancing blows he'd caught from the swords, the throbbing in his arm reminding him of the attempt of the kidnapper to snap it with his boot. He hadn't succeeded, for which d'Artagnan was grateful, but it ached without mercy now. But every injury paled into insignificance when he thought of the prince, whole and unharmed (if a little dirty).

Authors note.

Thanks for reading. Yes, I've mixed up the timeline for my own purpose- creative purposes. Possibly one more part