It was strange to be so close to someone - so close in fact - that you treated them like family, so close that the world at large accepted the familiarity as love, a bond, an acceptable closeness between a King, a royal family, and its closest advisor.

Aramis, now Cardinal Mazarin, looked on as Louis, the King of France and his brother Philippe shared a private joke across the room. By his side their mother and his secret wife, Anne watched too, both silent as they appreciated the small pleasure.

"They look so much like you," she whispered, daring only to do so because there was no one close enough to discern the content of their discussion. Aramis looked to her briefly before looking back at his sons.

"Perhaps when I was that age," he said with a small grin. The truth was, they both looked like him - if you knew what you were looking for. But no one suspected their connection and therefore darker, windswept hair or brown eyes filled with mirth was nothing more than a general coincidence. Louis in any case, favoured his Spanish ancestry. Philippe however, he had the look of a Musketeer. But thankfully, his interest in the latest French fashion ensured that he was never quite casual enough to be scrutinised.

From the moment he had met first Louis, then Philippe, he had felt an instant connection to both boys. He was proud to know they in turn too seemed to feel the same affection. The trust between them grew naturally and without any real effort. It felt to Aramis, despite the years of their separation, that he had never been far from them and that in many ways, he had raised them through the most important phases of their lives. In the deepest recesses of his heart he wished he might call them "son". But it was a dream, one he never quite indulged. It was enough, more than enough, he realised, so simply live within their orbit.

Years of sacrifice, years of determination had ensured that he was now where he was destined to be. Beside the only woman he had ever truly loved, raising the sons they had created in love. With his hands clasped lightly behind his back, Aramis showed no outward sign when he felt Anne step close to his side, linking their fingers at the base of his spine. He squeezed gently, wishing he could take her in his arms and place his lips against hers.

Looking at her briefly, he admired her elegant beauty. Time had been more than kind, leaving her matured, but no less exquisite.

"They love you dearly," she said. His heart warmed at her words. Not because they were superfluous, but because he was honoured by the fact that they were true.

"Never as much as I love them," he said softly, his eyes full. "And their mother."

Anne smiled, her face a mixture of many emotions. It had taken them many years to reach this point. He knew she had spent many unhappy years, sidelined and lonely. But all of it seemed to recede into the background. Like a hazy memory that no longer held any power over either of them.

He winked at her discretely before looking back to the two tall men across the room. Louis was all Anne. They had had many conversations about their sons in the privacy of night when they were cloaked in darkness, wrapped in the sanctuary of each other's arms. No matter her counter argument, he was convinced his only contribution – to both of them – was their hair. Louis, he maintained, was all Anne. Intelligent, curious, stubborn and fiercely loyal. He was fair, an engaged and compassionate ruler to a country that was starved for strong, but empathic leadership. His pride knew no limits as he watched him grow from an awkward young boy into a confident ruler of a nation. It never failed to humble that through the miracle of life, he had contributed to half of the man who stood across from him.

He had not been the one to teach his son to ride, or shoot or play a game of chess. But he did credit himself with encouraging him - and demonstrating on occasion - so that he might do those things well, with ease, with the skill and precision of a musketeer.

Aramis heard the boisterous laughter of Philippe and his lips curled in reaction. Philippe was, as Anne would say with great affection, his father's son. Playful, mischievous, an outrageous flirt and unfailingly charming, he was loved by anyone who met him. But beneath the frivolity was a fierce wit and intelligence, rivaled only by his kindness and penchant for affection. Where he spent many hours talking to Louis about strategy and war, Philippe would demand tales of Aramis's travels, the world, music, art and literature. They were very different brothers, but they loved and supported each other nonetheless, each complimenting the other in opposing spheres.

"Cardinal, Mother," Louis called across the room. Aramis inclined his head, offered Anne his arm and they went to meet their sons. "I was just telling Philippe that perhaps it was time he took a bride."

Philippe rolled his eyes, his lips curled in amusement. Aramis was lost for a moment in just how much he reminded him of himself at that age - the mannerisms, the gestures.

"Perhaps Philippe, it is time?" Anne gently prodded.

"He certainly will not want for potential matches. He has become the most eligible bachelor in all of France," Louis said.

"Cardinal, some assistance in assuaging these two of the notion that marriage is somehow a requirement to a fulfilled life."

Aramis chuckled, but at Anne's frown worked hard to keep his face impassive. His eyes could not however, hide his amusement.

"I am quite convinced that when the time is right, you will marry. Until then, I think you have some time yet."

"Ever the diplomat, Cardinal," Louis said.

Philippe smiled. "As always Cardinal, you are the voice of reason." Philippe stepped forward and embraced Aramis. The gesture was spontaneous, like most of his displays of affection. "Thank you."

Aramis hugged him back, meeting Anne's eyes over his shoulder. She smiled and opened her silk fan, waving it as she blinked rapidly.

Philippe clapped him on the shoulder, then looked sheepish for a moment when he realised it was not quite appropriate. It was however, Aramis realised, always how it was between them - curiously informal.

"Your Majesty, your horse has been saddled for your afternoon ride," a footman announced.

"Thank you, Jacques. Cardinal, Philippe, can I interest you in an afternoon ride? I've just acquired a new stallion and he has been saddled."

"When you say ride your Majesty…" Aramis began, quite prepared to spend the afternoon racing across the estate with his sons.

"A contest no doubt," Philippe returned. "I am willing and able."

"Cardinal?" Louis asked.

Aramis nodded. This was what he loved, these moments as a family, even if he was the only one who thought of it as such.

Philippe and Louis moved off and Aramis took a moment with Anne. "I'll make sure they are back in time for dinner," he said.

She nodded and cupped his cheek when they were alone. "Surely this is what happiness should be like for everyone?"

As a man, he was honoured to follow the leadership of his King. As a father to a King and a Prince, he was simply proud to have had any hand in shaping them to be the honourable men he had come to know and love.

"We waited long enough, my love. I do believe so."

a/n: From an anonymous on tumblr who asked: Kind of along the same universe as your other one shots, but this time it's from Aramis's point of working with his sons and finally being able to be with Anne. Thank you for reading x