This came because of the coincidence of a few things: French TV channel re-playing the entire Musketeers series for summer, and one of those long summer evenings, it also aired a very interesting documentary on medieval tales, including the story of Lancelot and Guinevere as written by Chretien de Troyes, that I still remember studying at school. Then watching Ed Sheeran singing in the second episode of Game of Thrones and later that week hearing his song "Thinking out loud" on the radio, and the refrain: "People fall in love in mysterious ways, maybe just the touch of a hand" stuck in my head and lacing it all.
Nothing extraordinary, but there it was. So I just laid it down as a single shot.
Love is often inescapable, I believe most of us would like to be able to go backwards and do the wise thing, not fall for that particular person. That one we loved beyond reason and with who it was so messed up. But these choices are almost impossible. During the 2nd and 3rd season I had the feeling that Aramis was judged quite severely for "sleeping" with the Queen, as if love was not involved and as if anything could have been done. The first season, on the contrary, distillates so many moments where the connection grows between the two future lovers. This is how I felt it started between Anne and Aramis. And I couldn't resist putting the reference of Lancelot in it! After all, the myth of Lancelot spending one night with his Queen was written as such in the 12th century in France at the specific order of the sponsor of the book, a noble woman, Marie de Champagne. French ladies were really ahead of time in terms of entertainment!
Of course I only own my thoughts and not the characters!
THE TOUCH OF A HAND
Nothing ever goes as planned, why should it? Suddenly chaos erupts and he is not surprise anymore after so many years of being a Musketeer. In the heat of the moment, he doesn't waste time thinking, he never does, he reacts on instinct. In today's trouble, she is not the target, she was supposed to be perfectly safe and yet she has been caught in the middle of that attack, away from the City Palace. But after all, a Queen is always a target, isn't she?
She came to show clemency to some prisoners just to find herself hostage of a filthy criminal. The sight of Vadim touching her was pretty disgusting and if the plan were not what it is, he would kill that vermin himself, just there with one shot of his musket. D'Artagnan has probably been the one to convince him to release her, but when he does she's even more vulnerable as all guards and musketeers are trying to contain the evasion of a horde of prisoners, bullets fly and he sees her retreating, stumbling backwards towards a sheltered place there is not. Noone is by her side despite Treville's shout "Protect the Queen". Explosions go on, and so he runs to her, and when she's about to fall, he catches her and brings both of them down to the soil, and shields her with his entire body, waiting for the storm to pass and for the musketeers and guards to win the fight. She hasn't screamed, she has certainly not acted like a spoiled noble woman. She has barely let a few gasps escape from her when Vadim was holding a musket against her.
So when the loudness of the combat finally fades and after rapidly assessing that the danger has passed, he looks back at her and realises how truly scared she is, eyes closed, holding her breath. She might be wearing embroidery expensive dresses and her royal courage but she is also a woman whose life has been truly endangered a few seconds ago. He feels her heart racing under his own. And his kind nature just kicks in, trying to reassure that person, make her feel safe, although these are not words for a Queen. These are words for a woman.
"Don't worry. It's fine." Still her eyes are closed. He puts a little more energy in his words then: "It's over. Look at me, look at me! I've got you." These last words seem to make her react.
She opens her eyes, breathes, takes in reality, so it was Aramis who came to rescue her. It could have been worse. She anchors her clear eyes in his dark ones and gives an answer with a pinch of humour. "So you have". And she smiles.
Only a Queen can behave like that. Most other woman would have cried, sighed, laughed hysterically, and maybe even embraced him. But the Queen of France, with three words, shows her royal nature. He's impressed.
Of course he immediately apologises for still being over her, and helps her to get back on her feet. Yet the moment is not entirely broken, since she looks at him and sees the blood dripping near under his ear. What surprises him most is that she noticed that he was hurt. In two seconds, as soon as she is standing again, there is a Queen, not even shaking, not even slightly trembling. All in control, a calm façade that reveals such strength of character. And there, in the court of the Châtelet, after having been so close to death, the Queen acts as the woman she also is, goes beyond the expected behaviour of the institution she incarnates. The way she approaches her hand towards such an insignificant scratch, with real concern and gentleness takes him by surprise. He was ready for a physical attack, not for the gentle hand of a Queen.
He had escorted her so many times. Of course like any French subject over the years, he noticed her grace and poise, her beautiful features, her porcelain skin, but also way too often her lone eyes, and the lack of real tenderness between the royal spouses. He has seen the young Spanish Infant turn into a grown up woman. He has offered her his arm on uncountable official occasions before, to help her down her carriage or other duties. But he never crossed an invisible line, in any way, not in thoughts, not in feelings, not in deeds, not in actions, not in words. It had never occurred to him to see her in any other vest that the Queen.
But maybe their souls were not yet at the edge they are standing now. A royal union is not often a happy one, and between Louis and Anne children have not come to fill the abyss of solitude she lives in. His heart is vacant after Adele vanished and seemingly chose an old wrinkled scum like the Cardinal over him. He would not admit it, not yet, even to his brothers, but he has been truly aching from her absence, he misses her warmth and her tenderness and that puts him in a vulnerable place right now.
That first touch from Anne of Austria might not be like a thunder strike, but it certainly alters time, seems to slow it down and everything around ceases to move. And, here, in the most awkward situation, he realises a woman shows genuine concern for him. A woman who happens to be the Queen of France. That sincerity and simplicity touches him. Somehow, inside those transparent walls of the bubble that invisibly formed around them, she has touched him.
"The Queen of France" his mind reminds him, and whilst these contradictory thoughts -the physical contact and the awareness of her royal rank- collide, he is the one taking her frail hand still lingering on him and detaches it from his skin, although he is slightly startled, it was impossible to hide. He cannot put a word on his feelings right now. But he felt it. So unexpected, so absolutely out of the world, that he puts that moment aside. The bubble pops off. Whatever it was, there are more urgent matters, and the Queen must be returned to safety.
With d'Artagnan crazy undercover, his thoughts don't truly wander on anything else for the next hours. Thus, afterwards he finds himself serene for the audience the Queen has requested, and even more relaxed the moment before she enters the room, because Porthos sometimes falls so easy as a pray to his jokes. It is one of the things he loves most about his friend, the fact that after so many years of companionship and a bond that is beyond words, he remains sensitive to Aramis jokes or comments, never blasé, never indifferent. He knew that Queen would never ask for anyone to be whipped, and still amused by Porthos annoyance at his comment, they hear the doors open, and the Queen makes her entrance.
Little did he know that despite all his experience in love affairs, love, the one that strikes without pity would find him disarmed and unprepared.
"Monsieur Aramis. Bravest of all the Kings' musketeers ", the Queen certainly knows how to flatter people.
Porthos bows completely over his front leg, eyes down, Aramis bends only slightly, beams with pleasure at the compliment and doesn't lose eye contact even for a second with the Queen, her Spanish ladies so uptight behind that the sight of Anne is even more remarkable, with that softness and a certain joy in her eyes, maybe even a hint of excitement. Still, at that point it has never crossed his mind to fall in love with her. His guard is off. How foolish of him.
"Only amongst the bravest, your Majesty" meaning Porthos of course.
He just keeps his smile up, and includes her in it, so naturally.
While Porthos is still bowing, Aramis shines his heart out. He doesn't act, he doesn't look contrite, nor uncomfortable in her presence. And he smiles, he always smiles, and today, he smiles at her. The Queen has to admit it is so rare around her to have someone, anyone, acting naturally, that she feels attracted to that quality like a butterfly to light. Not to mention that it is a handsome musketeer who has saved his life. She is a woman too, and his smile puts her in a good mood as well. In a lighter mood, and it feels good.
"Perhaps your friend would grant us a moment of privacy?". She does not even look at Porthos, as neither does she looses eye contact with Aramis.
Porthos is taken aback by that request from the Queen and his face reveals a twisted surprise, thinking 'that is different'. What did he miss to start with? He doesn't really like it, from that very first moment, the confidentiality the Queen searches with his romantic brother. His instincts are not far from truth, as he has altogether missed something earlier that day and is sensing the potential threat ahead in their lives. Porthos, like the others, caught in the events at Le Châtelet, had missed indeed the beginning of it all, that moment she touched his neck with her hand. It had been such a short moment, but this is how people fall in love, in the strangest ways, sometimes by the simple touch of a hand.
And Porthos will fail to witness it again, during that short moment he turns his back to the Queen and Aramis, to grant that requested privacy.
When the Queen asks if that insignificant scratch hurts. Honestly, Aramis doesn't even feel it anymore. It was truly nothing more than a sting.
But that question. "Does it hurt?" with that look on her face.
A Queen cannot be that fool nor that innocent. This is an opening. It is the privilege of a Queen, no doubt about it, and of course he could, he should dismiss the issue and maintain his distance. But that is not what he does. She wants to play or so it seems and he plays back. He thinks about it maybe half a second, and then Aramis, the man, makes his move.
"Well… perhaps it is a little sore", with just a slight inflexion in his tone of voice, almost unnoticeable, somehow like a child asking for attention. But there is definitely also something more. What he felt yesterday when she touched him: was it real? Or was it just his imagination? He now realises that it felt as if the wing of a butterfly had brushed against his skin. Ephemeral, ethereal, perfect. Like a dream.
If it was a dream, then he must not have awakened yet, because there, in the middle of the Palace, under the eyes of her company damsels, she approaches her delicate hand and touches him so gently, that the velvety feeling of a butterfly wing happens again. Touched by grace. She gets physically very close to him, and he can breathe her, and in that instant he is the one who falls. He is completely under her charm. Noone sees that moment of surrender; no one sees the ocean of endearment in his eyes and face, his look in that very moment. Maybe no one ever really notices that moment when we fall in love. Maybe only each of us can trace back that original moment and what the other has done to make us fall into love.
If one would imagine him without his sculpted beard and manly moustache, if anyone would have looked at Aramis just there, they would have only kept his look. They would have seen the child in Aramis, so open and defenceless. But not Porthos, nor the Queen, sees what Aramis' face reveals, although it's an open book for a split second.
He doesn't even really understand it himself, but it is precisely when she touches his skin again, and murmurs "poor kind Aramis" and looks into his eyes, that he falls. Without restraints. He falls for a Queen.
The cross she gives him will seal forever the moment, their love, they don't know it yet, and Porthos is already fuming at the scene of Queen Anne encircling with her arms Aramis' neck and lacing the golden chain herself. Way too intimate. Way too dangerous. He can't believe what his eyes are witnessing. What is the Queen doing? Does she not know Aramis?
"May it keep you safe. Always." Always is a powerful word, and this day, it reaches Aramis'heart and starts a turmoil that was as unexpected as delightful.
Porthos is totally appalled. The way Aramis now looks at the Queen, sustaining her look, even worse, giving what he calls "the stare". That skill he has practiced to perfection, that he unfolds as he unfolds his musket. He's going to kill him.
The problem is that Porthos had missed the wonder and love that touched Aramis just seconds before. For the remaining months and years to come Porthos will only be aware of a fraction of the story. He will miss a part of his brother's struggle, as well as the Queen's responsibility in the unfolding of their relationship. He will never truly see it as a love story. Porthos lines are too clear. The Queen is the Queen and he will never understand how he could cross that line and sleep with her. Neither Athos nor D'artagnan will fully get it. What they will never understand is that Aramis didn't fall for the Queen at the Convent, nor did he plan to seduce her or thought to sleep with her one day and commit treason. While they will all believe that he had been the old himself, a fool, stupid womaniser playing with fire, giving in to lush and desire, they will never know that that particular night, again, it was her who made the final step, who won him, it was her who went to him, who took the musket away from his hand, speaking the words that most men would not resist, and had not real choice except to surrender, because it all begun with her hand on his neck, months before. The bomb for future tragedy had certainly been loaded there at the Châtelet when he saved her. Maybe the chivalrous tales he grew up with, such as Lancelot ou le chevalier de la Charette influenced his mind and heart too much, and now he is the hero trapped in a doomed story.
But love was born as well. And this is the part they missed, the reason why none of them could stop it, because they didn't see it plant a seed of attraction that would be unstoppable for both of them.
It was the touch of a hand that changed it all. Some could see a certain irony in it, but after all maybe not, maybe it's precisely the reason of it. That he, Aramis, well known for being a tactile, warm person, fell for the subtlest of the contacts. Nothing outrageous. It was discreet, it was genuine, it was elegant, it was sensitive, it was not meant to unchain anything, nor to disturb the universe or the law, much less anyone's life. Yet that simple touch had reached him deep inside. For him, it was the touch of her hand who made him fall in love, a touch he feels he had waited for his entirely life.
THE END