Anyone else might have considered it a rather boring task. Downright tedious. Impossibly mind-numbing, and quite the thrill-killer – a welcome change, if you ask me, should you be one of the King's fearless Musketeers, with their lives constantly hanging on a very unpredictable balance.

So, yes, three of the bravest foursome Treville had ever had the pleasure of working with were dangerously close to picking a fight with an annoying pair of bees that relentlessly followed them around the garden. They were bored; and no, for them, it was no welcome change, nor was it a blissful time. Where on earth was the blood? The clinks of swords banging against each other in a fit of delicious rage? As Athos rolled his eyes at Porthos, who in turn snickered in D'Artagnan's direction, the threesome focused on dragging their sluggish feet across the yard and pretending they didn't hear, or see, the enamoured looks the Queens' ladies-in-waiting kept throwing their way.

Ah, yes, the Queen's ladies… any story that features such a fine assortment of ladies should, undoubtedly, be starred by the ever so lovely Queen Anne. The very pregnant, very beautiful Queen Anne. It did not go unnoticed – and not by a long shot – how Her Majesty insisted on walking precisely four feet to the left from the redheaded girl that carried her books; Athos wondered why such an arrangement had been made. Being so far away from the group, it was quite obvious she would not be included in any of the girly tales or other girly shenanigans Athos supposed went on in these increasingly more frequent afternoon walks.

Perhaps… solving a mystery would surpass sleepwalking where excitement was concerned? He rather hoped so, since the gentle breeze, combined with the rhythmic way all six feet stepped on the uneven pavement, was sure to be rendering him unconscious in less than two minute's time. Wait… no… their feet weren't all synchronized. As the pair of feet that clashed from the threesome's coordinated footsteps became growingly more apparent, so did a headache Athos didn't even know he had. No… Oh, no, no, no.

Bloody hell.

And now he was annoyed. Not only had he solved the mystery of the wandering Queen before he could even begin to spell his name – which he was quite good at, he might add - , but now he wanted to be bored… and he couldn't. Because, well, you see, when one of your brothers is making reckless acquaintances with the noose, one tends not to be the life of the party. Stupid, stupid Aramis.

Which brings us, of course, to the dashing, and yet currently sombre looking, Aramis. Of course! How had he not seen it before? Athos grumbled under his breath, and a drousy looking D'Artagnan glances curiously at him. Of course, it had to be Aramis' doing that the Queen had been so adamant in her request to have France's finest Musketeers guarding her at basically every time of the day. And to think her quivery tone, when voicing her concerns for her and her baby's safety in front of the King, Treville, and the four of them, had him fooled… Against his own will, a newly found respect for France's naïve looking Queen began to grow in Athos' stunned mind.

"Well, I'll be damned." He muttered, eyeing the inconspicuous pair in front of him.

"You see, kid, that's what happens when you bathe an already poorly brain with too much sunlight." Porthos laughed, staring at Athos' apparent frustration at – well, nothing, really, since he was busy making a hole on Aramis' unsuspecting back.

"What? What happens?" D'Artagnan's confused frown had him laugh even harder.

"Well, an advice that came a second too late as far as you're concerned, I see."

"Shut it, children, I'm attempting to think, if you must know." Athos snapped, and quickly raised a finger warningly in front of Porthos' ever-teasing face. "And no, no comments on your perceived futility of such attempt."

"Spoilsport." Porthos huffed, but obeyed.

"Much obliged." Oh, the sarcasm.

No. Now was not the time for sarcasm, Athos. Focus. Where were we, really? Oh, yes, Aramis. It was always Aramis.

That damned boy would be his undoing.

There he was, now, his bloody hair looking annoyingly fantastic against the green landscape, his seemingly relaxed demeanour contrasting with the rigidness with which he moved his arms, and yes… walking four feet to the side from the same redhead that carried all the poem books, and roughly two feet behind the Queen herself. Had he no sense in that thick skull of his? Had madness all but corrupted every cell in his body not yet corrupted by the deadly amounts of alcohol he ingested every night?

Hmm… come to think of it, Athos could account for only a couple of nights tainted by Aramis' unmeasured alcohol intake recently. Had he… had Aramis been cutting back on the wild nights for the Queen's benefit? Athos shuddered at the thought. Surely he wouldn't… no…

He was going to get them all hanged!

Who did he think he was, being all responsible in an attempt to make up for impregnating the Queen? Seriously, had he no remnants of any form of intelligence in that hardly used brain of his?

No, it absolutely had to stop now. Athos quickened his pace, steadily growing closer to his soon-to-be-dead comrade, but then…

The Queen stopped walking. Everyone halted as soon as she turned around and faced the confused looking Musketeers. "Gentlemen, I have a request."

D'Artagnan and Porthos, who were a bit behind the rest of them, nodded instantly. "Anything, Your Majesty." The youngest of them smiled.

"I wish to be alone."

"I would highly advise against it, Your Majesty. The grounds are, for the most part, protected, but leaving you here completely defenceless would be-"

"If it worries you so, perhaps I could do with only a couple of you. But the ones who do not stay must accompany my companions to their chambers." Her decisive tone almost made Athos smirk. That, and of course Aramis' serene performance, his eyes on the ground, and his back slightly turned to his three brothers. Well played, Majesty.

"Still…" Porthos started, but was quickly cut off by the blonde.

"Sir Porthos, as your Queen, that is my request." She said, with a strange, and yet not entirely unpleasant, mixture of authoritativeness and gentleness.

"Of course." Porthos acquiesced with a bow. "D'Artagnan and I shall accompany your ladies-in-waiting. That is…" He eyed Athos and Aramis questioningly.

"Perfectly fine with me, Porthos." Aramis' nonchalant tone matched his apparently expressionless face.

"Yes, go, and inform Treville of the change in our plans." Well, as far as Athos was concerned, Aramis now owed him a month's sum of drinking money. And a head – since he was sure to be losing his as soon as the King's spies took notice of their doings.

After the puzzling exchange, everything happened quite fast – or, perhaps, it was just Athos' worriedness showing. The group was soon too far to be visible to the three pairs of eyes that had stayed behind, and the Musketeer found himself on the receiving end of two sheepish looks.

Aramis cleared his throat, and Athos was surprised to see his hands trembling a bit as he covered his mouth. "Does your Majesty want to rest?"

The Queen smiled at both men. "As a matter of fact, I do. Do you two gentlemen fancy sitting with me under that appletree?"

"That would hardly be appropriate." The blue-eyed soldier gently declined.

"Do I need to use the I'm-the-Queen card on you, sir Athos?" She teased him, softly, though her whole body was turned in Aramis' direction. "Because I will."

"There is no need for such a drastic move, Your Majesty." Athos couldn't help but chuckle.

"Then it is settled."

The three of them walked peacefully to a healthy looking appletree, which was cleverly hidden by a particularly tall bush – Athos made a quick note to remember to double check this part of the garden when making his rounds, while at the same time silently complimenting his Queen for being so sharp-eyed.

"Your Majesty can't sit on the grass. Your dress will get stained." Aramis shook his head, a hint of playfulness in his words, and then untied his cloak. "Please, I know it is not much but allow me to spread my cloak on the grass for you to sit."

"Well, it is a white dress." The Queen smiled almost… cheekily? Could it be?

"And a very beautiful one." Aramis bowed, having set the cloak as perfectly as he could, and offered his hand. "Allow me?"

With one hand on the side of her very round stomach, and another holding Aramis', she lowered herself with difficulty – so much so that the Musketeer had to place his other hand over her lower back and gently lay her onto the cloak. Athos noticed how the entire process took perhaps a few extra seconds than the deemed necessary… and it also didn't go unnoticed how Aramis' hand found its way onto her stomach and stroked it almost imperceptibly.

"You are very kind, Sir Aramis."

Aaaand that's it. He felt like an intruder, but how could he be an intruder to a situation that surely wasn't happening? They surely weren't gazing into each other's eyes – which surely weren't as bright as they seemed from Athos viewpoint - , and they had to have breathed at least once… right? They surely weren't holding their breaths in anticipation of what was surely not going to be a kiss – not a bloody kiss, I beg of you, Aramis!

At least Aramis was still standing, and had not given up on his last thread of honour to go join the Queen on his cloak. But then…

"The young prince has awaken, it seems." The Queen's girly giggle had both men eyeing her stomach somewhat suspiciously. Their experience around pregnant women was, after all… very close to none, actually. She patted her belly tenderly, in a fashion not unlike Aramis', and chuckled. "And he seems very eager to communicate."

"How can you tell?" Aramis eyed her curiously, a fond smile breaking through his previous apprehension.

"Well, for one he is managing, only God knows how, to kick both my hand and my insides, at the same time. Ouch." The Queen rubbed her stomach and grimaced slightly, an action that had both men gasp with what could be described as sheer consternation. She then chuckled. "Oh, relax, you two, he's just being playful… which is good." She added in a reassuring tone, and Athos could tell it was meant for Aramis – since his friend was eyeing her with a worried frown.

"It is? Good, I mean?" He stumbled over his words, and Athos felt a sudden rush of sympathy for his uneasy friend.

"Yes, Aramis. It means he is healthy." Anne smiled.

"Good. Healthy is good." Aramis sighed in relief.

"Indeed." Anne paused, seemingly deep in thoughts, and then asked. "Would any of you like to meet my son?" Athos was sure she meant to smile, but her lips were trembling at the audacity of her offer. Her eyes kept wandering off to Aramis', and the other Musketeer knew that when she had uttered the word 'my', she had meant 'your'.

"Would it be… proper?" Aramis asked, shyly, but in his excitement forgot to wait for the answer. He knelt down in front of her as she chuckled.

"Of course. You two hold, amongst yourselves, more honour than the entire Red Guard."

"I wouldn't be so sure…" Aramis murmured with a sigh, and perhaps louder than he intended, for the Queen grabbed his hand instantly.

"Well, I am." She stated in a final tone, and gently placed his hand over her protruding belly. "Although I can understand your hesitation. It hardly seems fair to compare two brave soldiers to a mere set of brainless men."

Athos laughed, and Anne smiled at him, seemingly relieved that her joke had been well-received. As she turned her attention back to Aramis, she smiled brighter than Athos had ever seen her smile. "Do you like it?" She asked timidly, placing her hand over his.

"It's…" The kneeling Musketeer lowered his head, enough so that Athos could only see the ending of a very, very, very happy smile. The tone of his voice, though, painted a picture so clear Athos had to look away. "It's brilliant. Your Majesty, it's absolutely… brilliant."

"That's my son." With his back to them, Athos could only hear their hushed voices, and somehow he wished he couldn't. The Queen's emotional voice brought a smile to his face, which only intensified as she added, as quietly as she could. "That's your son. That's… Aramis, thank you."

And that was when the standing Musketeer decided it to be wise to remain with his back turned to the Queen and his comrade. Keeping watch for any approaching intruder, and hearing – secretly glad for his brother – the hushed kisses and soft gasps whenever the little one made an appearance, he waited for the sun to start setting in the horizon to clear his throat.

The blissful grin with which Aramis and Queen Anne strolled towards the castle was more than sufficient to assure Athos he had done the right thing. For he had seen the way Aramis had removed a stray leaf from Anne's golden hair and gently caressed her cheek; and the way he always guided her through the path with less roots in which she could trip; but mostly, he had seen the way they looked at each other.

For better or for worse, that was a look of love.

A/N: Would you like me to write more? I loved writing this one-shot! I could either turn this into a story, or write more one-shots. What do you think? Please tell me :))