A/N: This was written for fellow Musketeers fan, JJuna, over at The Heart of Camelot.


Of Wars and Letters

The letters had become her most precious belongings. They were with her at all time so that whenever she had a moment she could read them and imagine he was there with her.

He would come back. She knew that. Of course he would. But every single time a letter arrived, she couldn't help the momentary fear that coursed through her. What if that letter wasn't written by his hand, but by his Captain, or their other friends? What if that letter did not bring her joy?

Surely life wouldn't be so cruel to snatch him away from her when they had finally found happiness?

As a result, she felt unmeasurable relief when she read a new letter from him. Every letter he wrote meant he was alive. It meant they were all okay. It meant she was okay.

Sometimes, she felt selfish. Her heart was only bleeding for her beloved and their friends. The Queen however, not only had to deal with a bruised heart, but was caught between the home of her childhood, and the kingdom that would one day belong to her son. She wondered how any woman could bear such heartache?

She wished he would return soon. They had barely a few moments together before he had to answer the call of duty. But the war had only begun. It was hardly going to come to an end without both Kings being wholly satisfied, and that could be a while yet.

Once she retired for the night, she always returned to the garrison. In spite of having a perfectly suitable room near the Queen's private chambers, she preferred his room - their room - in the garrison. If she stayed still long enough, she could almost feel his presence. If she concentrated hard enough, she could hear his laugh.

As was routine, she lit a candle, put on his favourite shirt (it fell past her knees but she loved it), and settled down to re-read his letters. She had them memorised word for word, nonetheless, every reading enveloped her in a sense comfort she couldn't find elsewhere.

She traced the shape of each word, the lines of each letter, as if she was tracing his features - softly, fervently. Every 'I love you' brought a smile to her a face, even as every 'I miss you' made her miss him more.

Oh, how she missed him.

~•~•~

When the letter was handed over to her, she sensed as if something had changed. Could it be news of his...

She tore the letter open, ignoring the tears that filled her eyes as she attempted to read it.

"Oh!" she cried out. He was coming home.

At last.