Very special thank you to Mountain Cat who knows how to put the polish on a story! Without her you'd all be suffering through my misspellings and wicked grammar.
This story includes spoilers and takes place after season one and before season two.
Don't own the characters, yada-yada-yada... No money being made... yada-yada-yada.
Just a quick FYI: All of my stories are stand alones. I don't like to box myself in by limiting characterizations of the characters. What works in one story may not work in another. Please don't read this as being tied to any of my other works. If I ever have stories that are tied together, I'll be sure to note it.
This story is complete and I'll post on a nightly basis until posted in its entirety. Thank you and I hope you enjoy it!
The harpsichord had been a gift to King Louis from the Marquis de LaRose. Its lid was propped open to expose strings that stretched from the keys to the hitchpins. The curved edge faced the windows that overlooked the gardens, and the bench rested at a thigh's length from the keyboard. The walnut sides and lid had been decorated with ornate carvings of flowers that surrounded the palace. It stood alone in the grand hall, isolated, but on display for guests to admire.
The attendant exited the room, closed the door, and turned toward the palace kitchens. He adjusted his white gloves, pulled on the hem of his doublet, and nodded toward Aramis, who walked past.
Aramis adjusted his hand on the hilt of his weapon, walked with determined strides down the long hall, and nodded toward d'Artagnan who stood guard outside the queen's apartment. He glanced toward the doors and paused in the foyer and waited.
The early spring weather caused Aramis to roll his shoulders, stretch his neck, and pull at the front of his uniform. A chill had settled in his bones of a pending storm. Spring had been mild compared to prior years, but something itched that he just couldn't scratch. He looked out the window toward the rose garden that had yet to fully bloom. Only a few flowers braved the chilly weather and had opened their buds in all their glory toward the sun. The sparse reds and pinks teased the green palate with hints of color amongst the foliage. The sun's rays glistened off the pond and the lily pads moved with the gentle waves as a chilly breeze swept by.
The queen's chamber doors opened. Aramis and d'Artagnan bowed and then rose when she stepped forward. Her blue gown was sequined with lace and pulled the eyes of those who gazed upon her to her heart-shaped face. Hidden behind the folds of fabric, and the well placed gems and lace, grew the future king of France.
"It pleases me that my musketeers are to escort me today," Anne said. "Louis has," she paused and glanced toward the windows, "has implied that my appearance at dinner isn't needed given my current condition — but it's my duty to be in attendance for him — after all, I'm not restricted to my chambers as yet." She smiled, folded her fingers together, and met Aramis' eyes.
"Of course, your majesty," Aramis said. He shifted his feet, nodded toward d'Artagnan, and then turned as Treville entered the foyer.
Treville bowed and then pursed his lips when he met Anne's eyes. "My apologies, majesty," he said. With a subtle shake of his head, he held her gaze and grimaced.
Anne's face paled. She looked toward her hands when she realized Louis would not accept her presence at dinner. Without being told, she cleared her throat and said, "Perhaps another time then." She wet her lips, forced a tight smile despite her humiliation, and then looked to her left to gaze at the gardens.
"You must be hungry," Aramis said. He cocked his head to the left, raised his eyebrows and glanced from Treville to d'Artagnan. "And the future of France must be properly cared for."
Anne raised her chin, smiled, and nodded. "Yes," she exhaled, "that sounds pleasing."
Treville stepped alongside her as they walked toward her private library. Sunlight cascaded through the windows and glowed against the bright yellows, creams, highlighting the dark woods and the displays that held vases filled with greenery and daisies.
The sounds of the harpsichord echoed, and Anne paused as she neared the door of the grand hall that was cracked open.
"My apologies, majesty," Treville said, and walked toward the room. "I'll put a stop this —"
"Don't," Anne said, and stopped her progression.
Treville paused by the door and turned toward her. He glanced toward Aramis, who shrugged, and then d'Artagnan who stood behind her and maintained his position. Behind him stood three of the queen's ladies-in-waiting.
"Please," Anne said, "let him play." She curled her lips into a smile and listened to the strokes of keys as the melody continued. The soft, even tones calmed her frustration, and for a moment she closed her eyes and just listened. She allowed the sun to capture the softness of her features. She looked toward Aramis and felt her heart beat against her chest as he looked at her. She met his eyes, felt her nose tingle, and her eyes water. "It's a love story," she said, a tear falling across her right cheek. "I heard this when I was a girl… the composer was," she hesitated, "an unfortunate looking man," she swallowed, "but he was so… gentle… with his music." She closed her eyes and listened. She allowed herself a moment to remember a different time in her life, when things were not planned, predetermined, or even destined. She thought about herself as a girl, hiding in her family's library, reading books she shouldn't have been reading, and falling in love with the heroes within those stories.
Her ladies-in-waiting stood behind her and whispered amongst themselves. They ignored d'Artagnan's disapproving looks, even as he shook his head, and stepped closer to his queen.
Aramis watched her. He watched the tears fall, land on her bosom, and fall toward her cleavage. He watched her laced fingers tighten, the way she rubbed at the smooth surface of her thumbnails, and her glances toward him as the music continued. Aramis admired the way sun's rays highlighted the curves of her lips, the delicate shape of her nose, and her eyes that shined despite her husband's rejection. Aramis swallowed, looked again at her hands, and remembered the feel of her skin against his.
"It's the story of two people who are in love, but separated when his boat is lost at sea… She mourns for him, and he fights to find a way to return to her." She opened her teary eyes and looked toward Aramis. "The melody is his grief when he realizes — after returning home — that she has married another."
"Majesty?" Treville said and stepped closer to her. He listened as the music stopped and then focused on her.
Anne wiped the tears from her cheeks with the padded tips of her fingers and forced a smile. "I had always loved the music… I just never thought I would hear it again." She uncharacteristically reached for Treville's arm and squeezed. "It brings back memories that I haven't thought about in a very long time."
Treville looked to his right when Porthos rounded the corner and stopped suddenly. "Where's Athos?" Treville said and cocked an eyebrow.
Porthos grasped the hilt of his sword, bowed toward the queen, and then cleared his throat. "Said he was goin' to check the grounds."
Treville nodded, and with his hand he motioned for them to continue. He paused a moment and pushed open the door. He pursed his lips when he found the grand hall empty and the isolated harpsichord abandoned. He closed the door and walked alongside d'Artagnan. "Find Athos."
D'Artagnan nodded, turned immediately to the right as they walked toward the queen's library, and then exited the palace through a side door. A cool breeze hit his skin. He instinctively hunched his shoulders and looked toward the gardens. D'Artagnan paused a moment, and chuckled when he spotted Athos standing with his left hand pressed against a pillar, his left leg across his right knee as he scraped a stick between the heel and sole of his boot.
"Did you find something you weren't expecting?" d'Artagnan said and chuckled. He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked an eyebrow.
"This is the second pile of dog shit I've stepped in today," Athos said, and flung the stick upward to emphasize his point.
D'Artagnan ducked to avoid the flying remnants.
"You want to search the grounds for the fugitive or fugitives?" d'Artagnan chuckled and wiped a hand over his mouth. "We could start by size… perhaps bring them in for questioning — maybe lock them in the Bastille."
Athos frowned and rolled his eyes. He lowered his leg and walked to the grass, where he wiped off the remaining residue. He tossed the stick toward the hedge.
"Treville needs to see you," d'Artagnan said, and failed to suppress his snicker.
"About a spaniel… or maybe a poodle?"
D'Artagnan smiled and shook his head. "Someone was playing the king's new harpsichord. I think he assumes it was you." He shifted his feet and shook his head.
Athos steadied his sword and stomped once more against the grass. He paused a moment and looked around the gardens. "It wasn't," he said, and met d'Artagnan's eyes. "Perhaps it was Aramis — he would be the one to enjoy the sounds of cats in heat." He stepped off the grass and walked toward d'Artagnan.
D'Artagnan cocked an eyebrow and said, "I thought you would enjoy music?" He stepped onto the veranda and entered the palace. "Given your…" he shrugged, "more refined tastes."
Athos took a deep breath and ignored the ridicule. "I enjoy music — just not the harpsichord."
They turned to the left and entered the queen's library. She stood beside the window and looked outward. The sun outlined her features and glistened off the sequins of her dress. Books lined the walls and provided warmth to the room. Unlike Louis' library that was sparsely furnished and grand, Anne had taken time to select furniture for seating, tables for books, and candelabras that enhanced its elegance.
Treville stepped toward Athos and pulled him aside. They spoke quietly, until Athos cocked an eyebrow, and shook his head. Treville chuckled, looked at Athos' boot, and nodded. They both turned when the queen spoke.
"Since I've been asked to dine alone," Anne turned from the window, "I'd like my musketeers to join me." She lifted her chin and ignored the hushed whispers of her ladies-in-waiting. "I prefer not to dine alone this evening. Would you be so kind as to join me?"
Treville cleared his throat. "Majesty, this is highly irregular." He stepped forward and tilted his head to the left in question. He grasped the hilt of his sword. "We must —"
"Separate duty from familiarity?" Anne said. "I understand the complexity of the request, captain, but you and the musketeers are assigned to protect me and this child— at least until I'm confined to my chambers." She unconsciously rubbed at her belly. "Please," she said, "it's just an informal meal… and I rarely have anyone to speak to who is trustworthy." She glanced toward the women who stood by the fireplace and continued to whisper and giggle amongst themselves. "Obviously," she said with her eyebrows raised, "I find myself in need of," she paused, "company that I trust."
Treville nodded and bowed. "We'd be honored."
"Good," Anne said. Her smile reached her eyes, and she nodded toward the doorman, who turned and left. She motioned with her hand toward the small dining hall next to the library.
"I hope, majesty," Aramis said, "you will not find our dining skills," he shrugged, and frowned, "offensive."
"I think I shall be grateful for company, regardless of your skills."
"We're not 'avin' fish are we?" Porthos asked and shifted to the left when Aramis sent a punch to his middle.
"Duck, I believe." Anne smiled when Porthos nodded in approval.
"I like duck."