The Gift
His eye for beautiful women never erred. And yet he can honestly admit, he never looked at her properly as a woman. She was the Queen. His duty as a King's Musketeer was to protect the royal couple. Thus his eyes never strayed in her direction. Not until that day at Châtelet.
Even when Vadim grabbed her and put a pistol to her precious head, he still saw her as the Queen who needed his protection. He suspected that everyone's eyes were on Vadim, he only looked at her. He still remembers how terrified she looked. And when the shooting started his only thought was to save her. Without a moment's hesitation he jumped to her, pushed her to the ground and covered her with his body.
His journey had begun then.
It was not a journey that was a bed of roses. It was mostly filled with pain, remorse, guilt, deception, longing and disappointment. There were only glimpses of absolute joy, fulfilment and sheer happiness. If, however, all that led to this exquisite moment today, it was worth it.
He only truly looked at her when he was covering her body and sheltering her from possible harm coming from the fight. When the commotion stopped, his face was close to hers for the first time ever. Only then he noticed her full, heart-shaped lips, her smooth, delicate skin and he breathed in her sublime perfume. She was shaking with fear. He tried to soothe her, telling her that it was over, but she kept her eyes closed.
"Look at me, look at me," he urged her. He had a first proper look into her beautiful, sky blue eyes as she slowly opened them. He was mesmerised. He forgot for a moment that is was the Queen, she was just a frightened, beautiful woman, trembling in his arms. "I've got you," he told her in a soothing voice. She exhaled with relief and a shy smile. He could feel her shortened breath on his face. "So you have," she finally replied with an enchanting smile. He likes to think now that it was that moment that changed his life forever and led him to today.
He realised that they were in a quite compromising position when his sense of decorum and reality came back. He apologised to her and helped her to get up.
"You're hurt," she said in a concerned voice and to his surprise, she reached towards his neck. If he was to be honest, he did not feel a thing, only hours later he saw in the mirror that he had a scratch just below his right ear and that there was some blood.
He thought her gesture very intimate and all of a sudden he felt that he should protect her from indecency and he should prevent it, even if the gesture was a natural result of her innate kindness. She was the Queen, he was just a soldier, so he reached for her hand and gently, slowly moved it away. All the time he could not take his eyes off her. He felt the urge to kiss her hand but fortunately the awkwardness of the moment was interrupted by Captain Tréville who came to inquire about the Queen and then led her away to her carriage. He was rewarded though as she was being led away, she turned her head and gave him a glance. He was smiling happily when Porthos approached him, "What are you so happy about?"
"A pair of gentle and kind eyes," he replied, putting his hat on.
"There's none of those here that I can see," Porthos said gloomily. "What are you on about?"
He smiled at his friend but did not reply. And he was grateful that Porthos's thoughts went quickly to other subjects.
He did not think about her much after this, so he was surprised at himself when her face floated before his eyes when his head hit the pillow. He smiled at the recollection of her lips and her eyes but his thoughts went no further and he quickly went to sleep.
VVV
Next day Tréville said that the Queen wanted to see the musketeers who were yesterday present at Châtelet. As Tréville and Athos were to meet with the Cardinal, Aramis and Porthos were sent to the Queen.
He silently wondered why she had summoned them. They were just performing their duties but then, her life was in danger for the first time, and perhaps that was why it meant more to her. He was in a good mood, he was looking forward to seeing her again. He had been on her guard detail before but he did not pay a particular attention to her as a person. He knew that she seemed pleasant, poised and of gentle heart. Her remarks to the prison commander on that day at Châtelet only proved further his assessment.
When she entered the room, he was struck by the realisation how exceptionally beautiful she was. He was amazed that he did not come to this conclusion earlier. He must have been blind. He never took his eyes off her now. He was never one for deep bows to his betters, so even bowing he had an ample opportunity to appreciate her graceful figure. She welcomed them with the phrase that was the music to his ears, even if he was not naturally boastful.
"Monsieur Aramis, the bravest of all King's Musketeers," she said smiling at him. He found it amusing that she had ignored the presence of Porthos completely. However pleasant it was to hear it, he had to correct her out of his natural humility. "Only amongst the bravest, Your Majesty," he replied with a wide smile and straightened himself up to have an unobstructed view of her, even if Porthos was still inexplicably bowing.
She paused as if looking for the proper words. He waited with pleasant anticipation. He knew that she would not want them whipped for putting her in danger despite his humorous teasing words to Porthos earlier. Maybe Porthos took it too seriously and that was the reason he was still bowing.
Then she addressed him again. "Perhaps your friend will grant us a moment's privacy," she suggested. When Porthos grudgingly complied, she took a step towards him and asked him with concern if his wound still hurt. Considering that he barely even noticed having it there, he replied truthfully that it did not. But then he thought again and added hesitatingly, "Well, perhaps a little sore…" He rather knew than saw that Porthos was giving him the disapproving look but he could not resist. He hoped she would show her concern for him again.
And he was right, she looked worried when she gently touched his neck and kept her fingers there for longer that it really was appropriate. He caught his breath. "Poor, gallant Aramis," she said in almost a whisper. He felt a shiver running down his spine. He was speechless. He did not remember when last the touch of a woman resulted in such a reaction in him. He was feeling dazed.
She reached behind her head and untied a ribbon of her chain with an elaborate, gem-encrusted cross. He did not fail to notice that that cross was previously hidden in between her breasts.
"Accept this gift," she said formally. "As a token of your queen's gratitude." He bowed slightly and she reached around his neck, slowly tying up the ribbon. His eyes hungrily roamed her face… and her cleavage. He was still himself after all. She seemed to blush under his intense stare.
"May it keep you safe," she said warmly, looking straight into his eyes. "Always." He should have said something. He should definitely have said something but he was unable to find the words. He was fascinated by the closeness of her face to his, her perfume and her natural scent filled him to the point of dizziness. He could only look into her eyes. She definitely blushed this time and she lowered her gaze to avoid his hungry eyes. Then she smiled gently, still slightly embarrassed and left.
As soon as the door was closed behind her he raised the cross and smelled it. It carried her scent and it was still warm from the heat of her body.
Porthos's voice broke the spell, "You know you were giving her 'the stare'?"
"What stare?" he asked, trying to steer Porthos from that way of thinking. It was unsuccessful though as Porthos just looked at him menacingly in response.
"She's a very attractive woman," he said abandoning the defensive stance and all pretence, Porthos was his best friend after all.
"She's not a woman," said Porthos driving his message through with a stern look. "She's the Queen."
He had to admit that Porthos was right.
"Please, set your sights a little lower," Porthos gave him a friendly advice as a parting shot. And again he had to agree with his friend. But something in him made him look thoughtfully at the door she disappeared behind. Queen or no queen she stirred something in him. Something that he could not place for now.
Later that day when he was sitting in the courtyard at the garrison, cleaning the pistols, his thoughts wandered to her despite himself. Did he imagine her blushing? She must have known or rather she must have felt something as he did when they were close. Surely she had, hadn't she? But then even if so, what either of them could do about it? The best explanation is that he imagined it all. And what he could do is to forget about her. Well, it was not the easiest thing to do. The cross he got from her was a constant reminder as it touched his chest with every movement.
VVV
He was once again in the guard detail when the King and the Queen decided, despite the warnings from Richelieu and Tréville about Vadim's plot, to walk amongst the people after the mass. His vanity was satisfied with her distinguishing him from the crowd, he noticed that she looked around and then stopped for a moment when her gaze met his. She even gave him a small smile before turning her head away. Some part of him wanted to watch her more but then his sense of duty brought him back to reality, and his eyes scanned the crowd for any possible assassins.
Then he heard something that froze his heart. "Death to tyrants!" rang from a man in the crowd. He quickly placed him and rushed in his direction, but before he got there, another man stepped forward into the middle of the street with a bomb in his hand. He shot him without the hesitation. Then he aimed his second pistol at the man who shouted but the bastard hid behind a woman.
"Shoot him!" he heard Athos screaming at him. He hesitated, he might have been the best shot in the regiment but he was afraid to injure the woman the assassin grabbed and held in front of him. Then he fired aiming near the head of the assassin. It was a mistake. Assassin let go of a woman and hurled a bomb towards the place where the Queen surrounded by the musketeers stood. The King was already safely led to the carriage at this point. The bomb fell a few steps from the Queen and the fuse was sizzling.
He run towards the bomb and covered it with his body trying to extinguish the fuse. He was not thinking, he heard as through the fog Porthos screaming at him, "No, Aramis, no!"
But it was not his day to meet his maker. The fuse fizzled out under him and the bomb did not go off. "It's safe!" he cried towards Tréville and the musketeers rushed the Queen to the carriage. He looked towards her; as she was led away, she kept turning her head and was looking at him, the distress on her face was palpable. When he met her gaze, he reached for the cross and pressed it to his lips, thanking the God for saving her. He felt so alive then. What he did, he did instinctively and if he was to do it again, he would. It was not important, she was safe and that was important, he did his duty.
VVV
He had almost no opportunity to see her after that Sunday assassination attempt for a long time. He was not often on duty to the Louvre. And she did not grace him with a single look, thus he had some time to rethink few things. He came to the conclusion that he had mistaken her behaviour towards him for something more than her natural kindness and compassion for others, and he mistaken his feelings regarding her for something else than what it really was - his genuine sentiment, his deeply ingrained sense of duty. He was a King's Musketeer, he lived to serve his King and his Queen. Nothing more, nothing less.
And then she walked into his life again in all her glory during the time of trial of Comtesse Ninon De Larroque. She informed the Cardinal of King's decision that unless the Comtesse had confessed her alleged crimes voluntarily and not under torture, she was to be spared the death sentence. He smiled with a sincere joy on hearing it and he was absolutely convinced that it was she who was behind this decision and not the King. Especially since she came to this court room and not the King who after all arrived at this out-of-the way abbey, too.
He was mildly disconcerted however, that after her declaration the Queen turned her head abruptly in his direction and gave him a look of slight displeasure. Was he imagining things? Why would she be displeased with him? Nevertheless he had no time to dwell on the issue as the Cardinal had a fit caused by the poison. Despite his feelings towards the Cardinal, he rushed to the Cardinal's side to check up on him.
Together with his friends, he took Richelieu to his chamber and gave the Cardinal an emetic trying to save his life. It seemed to work but there was still the issue of finding the poisoner.
Lost in thought, he crossed the internal courtyard only to be stopped by her voice. Unusually and against the court etiquette, she was alone. She inquired about the Cardinal and he was reluctant to provide her with the definite information as the Cardinal's state was still precarious at that moment. She understood his hesitation differently. She acknowledged the fact that as the Cardinal was not particularly well disposed towards the musketeers in general, Richelieu's survival was not of the highest priority to him. He was pleased to note that she perceived more than her husband. He respected and protected the King but His Majesty silliness, naivety and propensity to being manipulated did not escape his attention and that of his friends. The Queen was always considered as wiser than the King by the ever gossiping courtiers at the palace, even if she was universally despised for being of Spanish blood.
As ever a diplomat, he only replied that they were all servants of France. He bowed respectfully but never took his eyes off her, as was his style.
There was a sudden lull in their conversation and he was waiting politely for her to speak as there was clearly something on her mind. And it definitely was not the Cardinal's health.
"I did not expect to see my gift to you on the Comtesse's neck," she finally said in a quiet voice, avoiding his eyes.
It was the gentlest of rebukes but it baffled him, he did not expect it and for once in his life he was speechless. He gave the necklace to the Comtesse because he wanted to comfort her, he wanted to assure her that the god, he believed in, would not let her down. He did it without thinking.
Then she asked, looking straight into his eyes, "Is Ninon your lover?" She paused for a moment. "She is beautiful," she added as if to say that she understood his interest in the Comtesse..
This had gone too far, he had to put an end to that notion. He found his words finally. "She is a good woman, facing a hideous death," he tried to explain. "I only wanted to comfort her." He hoped that his explanation was sufficient. For a moment he thought that he might have phrased it better, somewhat clearer but then he assumed that protesting too much would have been more suspicious.
Their eyes were locked, he did not know why it was so important to him that she would believe him. He gave the necklace because that was his first thought that came to his mind as a form of support for a woman hounded by the Cardinal. Yet now, he could understand how the Queen could have seen it. That very private gesture of hers was important to her. And now it seemed like he gave away her gift like it was of no importance to him.
He noticed her eyes softening and a shy smile appeared on her lips.
"Forgive me," she said in a quiet voice, she looked slightly embarrassed and her gaze strayed from him. "Your compassion does you credit." Then she looked at him again with a kind smile and he internally sighed with relief; she was wise, kind and she trusted his words. He smiled back at her with warmth. Again she looked down in a visible embarrassment and then she walked past him. He did not take his eyes off her and was looking thoughtfully after the retreating figure.
He might have been prone to imaging things where she was concerned before. So he tried very hard not to read too much into the situation. In any other circumstances he would have been dead sure that she was jealous. He would have thought it about any other woman but again he was reminded of Porthos's words. 'She is not a woman, she is the Queen.' Why would she have a reason to be jealous? There was nothing between them, was there? There could never be anything between them, they are worlds apart and he should not be even thinking about it. Thinking about it was a treason. He decided not to think about it then.
And yet his eyes strayed towards her whenever he was at the palace. She never looked at him. And that strangely pained him. When the Comtesse returned the cross to him he vowed to himself that he would never take it off, for anything, for anyone. It became somehow a sacred relic to him. Whenever he prayed, his prayer ended with kissing the pendant.
He did his best not to think of her. He tried to live his life as it was before, but for some reason nothing was as before. When he took Porthos for an adventure of seeking the patroness who would pay their entry fee for the competition between King's Musketeers and Red Guards, he found himself doing it half-heartedly. He finally secured a rich widow but it was hard work, even if the lady was a pleasant looking woman. In the past it would have been just an enjoyable distraction, not anymore. He found it strange but decided not to dwell too much on the subject. It made him uncomfortable.