AN/ This is my entry to the Fete des Mousquetaires competition: "There is no friendship that cares about an overheard secret". Please go to the forum for more information regarding the competition and it's rules.

3 Chapters: 3,267 Words

Disclaimer:- I do not own The Musketeers (BBC).

Enjoy!

King Louis XIV sat tall on his mount and was leading the royal hunt as he and his men sped through woods with the dexterity and skill that his father had never possessed. His father, for all his love towards his country and his family, had been timid, boisterous, and childish. By contrast, the son of Louis and Anne, was demure, but not anxious; energetic, but always in control; and excitable, but knew when to rein it in.

His father had passed when he was eleven years of age. His mother had ruled as regent until Louis had turned eighteen, and now, at nineteen, he was the leader of France and, under the tutelage of his mother, the now retired Treville, and the various ministers and musketeers he'd had by his side as he'd grown up, he felt he was a fair and careful ruler.

His prey – a stag the party had been tracking for some leagues before the chase had begun – pulled away from him, and Louis pulled his haunches in, encouraging his steed to pick up even more speed. He always found this an exhilarating experience: the power of his horse shifting in time with the sway of his body, the wind whistling in his ears, and whipping his hair up… just the speed of it has his heart racing.

He was gaining pace… he truly had the prey within his sights… any moment…

A ragged yell echoed in the air not so far from his ear and he felt, rather than saw, the horse come up alongside him, as his reigns were pulled from his hands, and his horse pushed off course.

Amongst the bewilderment, he also felt anger at the sudden loss of momentum in his chase. It was a brief feeling, for suddenly, the horse that had pulled up beside him was collapsing against his own and the rider was dragging him off his mount and to the ground.

The two riders landed in a tangled heap, the other man's hand protecting the King's head as they careened to the ground. Louis grunted at the rough landing, and in the background other sounds were beginning to filter in: metal on metal, shots peppering the air, wild shouts and yells…

Louis finally gathered his senses as everything slowed down and he was able to detach the wildness of the chase from the almost abstract, fleeting, moment from which he was thrown from his horse, to where he was now, lying in the dirt, with a body lying over his own, and the sounds of battle flying all about him.

The man on top of him shifted and coughed.

"D'Artagnan?" the young King asked.

"Apologises Majesty," the King's Captain of the Musketeer guard huffed out breathlessly. "Had to put something between you and the shot."

"You mean yourself," Louis asked, rather concerned.

"That is my job," d'Artagnan said with a trace of humour in his voice. "We've got to move. Now."

D'Artagnan scrambled up and pulled Louis with him, and put his body between Louis and himself.

Louis drew his sword as he took in the carnage about him. He wasn't a musketeer, but d'Artagnan, Porthos, and a few others in the guard had taught him the lay of the land, and he was reasonably proficient in self-defence with both sword and fists.

Before him, lay d'Artagnan's mount, clearly dying from the shot meant for Louis and his mount. Louis searched for his horse in the mayhem, but could not find him. The group had been set upon by what roughly looked like a force of ten to fifteen men, and the musketeers were beating them back, but the enemy had surprise on their side, and so it had been a while before the musketeers could pull the battle back into their court.

Standing between his charge and the carnage, d'Artagnan set to work, dispatching the two men advancing on the King, and then pulling his ruler and friend away from the midst of the battle. He watched his men, checked they had the battle in hand, passed a shouting order to Henri, his second in command now that Porthos had transitioned to Minister for Population and Civil Inquiry, and then corralled the King onto a spare mount. He took another horse for himself and harried the King away from the fight, with another two musketeer's taking the rear.

They rode hard and fast until they reached the palace, then they trotted through the gates.

"Etienne!" d'Artagnan called to one of the musketeers on guard duty. "There was an ambush on the route. Please inform Athos and have Henri come report to us both upon his return."

Etienne nodded and went to dispatch someone to locate Athos.

"Let's go inside, Majesty," d'Artagnan said, handing his reigns to the stable boy.

"You know that is not necessary," Louis said. "You may call me by my name."

"You're the King now Louis," d'Artagnan said. "At least in others company I should address you as such. Even your mother does so when in public."

"But it feels so needless," Louis sighed. "You're practically my brother."

"I think you mean big brother," d'Artagnan teased, jabbing his friend in the ribs as he teased him. "I used to carry you about on my shoulders remember?"

Louis looked annoyed for all of a minute before he, too, was grinning at the memory. D'Artagnan was almost exactly twice his age, and had often taken charge of the King's protection when he was growing up. The two had become incredibly close, and for all intents and purposes, d'Artagnan was his friend and brother, as much as he was his royal subject and bodyguard.

When Treville had stepped down as Minister for Defence, Athos had been the most obvious successor, and, in turn, d'Artagnan had settled into the role as Captain as a babe takes to water.

They entered the meeting hall just as Athos arrived from one of the side doors. Queen Anne was already sitting by the fire and looked up at the unexpected arrivals.

"What has happened?" she asked, looking over her son and the two soldiers with concern.

"There was an ambush mother," Louis said. "But I'm fine. D'Artagnan has made sure of that."

"Then I am grateful as ever Captain," Anne said with a gracious smile in d'Artagnan's direction.

D'Artagnan returned the smile and dipped his head solemnly before turning to Athos.

"Thirteen men that I could count," he said. "I may have heard a snatch of what might have been Italian, but I'm afraid I don't speak the language well enough to be sure. Henri will hopefully leave one alive."

"Indeed," Athos nodded. "In the meantime, I'm glad that you have both arrived safely. Shall we sit?"

The three men joined the Queen, and Louis poured drinks for them all, much to Athos' uncertainty and d'Artagnan's amusement.

D'Artagnan had thought to go back to his men, but his bones ached and he felt tired, and knew he could trust Henri to command in his stead so he sat, nursed his drink, and… slowly… let his eyes slip closed.