I'm posting a bit early today. I've got a list of duties to accomplish! Thank you everyone who is still with me on this journey! You're feedback has been greatly appreciated!

Onward we go...

Aramis couldn't remember the moment it happened. The moment he recognized the feeling Anne gave him when she looked at him, the fleeting glance of her eyes, the flutters of her dress as she walked through the palace halls, or the sound of her giggles when amused. He had admired her beauty, the sight of her on her daily walk across the gardens, or as she stood by a window and allowed the sun to outline the elegance of her features. There wasn't a time associated with it, just a hint of admiration when he was fortunate enough to be close to her.

She had stood proud, strong, and determined in a sea of French nobility. A Spanish queen amongst them, out of place, and unwelcome. Regardless, she had walked with her chin up, her back straight, and a regal smile that defied her inner feelings. Aramis respected her for her courage and her strength of character. She wasn't like anyone he had ever met before, and part of his attraction to her was that difference.

The gardens were changing as the autumn months approached. Flowers were being cut back, mulch was being collected, and hedges were being trimmed. The roses still bloomed, and slowly, the faint changes of leaves were appearing on the trees. In only a few months the gardens would be dusted with snow, the fountain would be a shadow of it's former self, and the skeletal trees would bend and bow to winter's cruel winds. They would creak, crack, and moan as they succumbed to the weather.

Aramis walked from the path into the cluster of trees near the back of the gardens. He could see her while remaining hidden in the shadows. She was radiant as the sun cast its light across her. Her light blue gown shimmered, and her golden hair shined. She walked in front of her ladies-in-waiting, while Constance walked beside her. Her son was being carried by his wet-nurse. The boy, barely visible against her chest as she held him, looked about curiously and pointed to the birds that flocked near the pond. Aramis smiled and exhaled through his nose. The child was curious. Aramis took a deep breath and watched them.

He knew Anne could never be his. She was royalty, bound to a certain code and expectations. Even if — heaven forbid — King Louis were to die, her position would prevent her from lowering her standards to his level. Despite the fact that it happened more than Aramis wanted to admit, the lavish lifestyles of royals had many times caused scandals. But for a woman, the expectations were different. Aramis swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched Constance and Anne take their seats beneath the shade of a tent and enjoy the simplicity of summer's passing and autumn's approach.

Anne looked happy, more than she had in months. She looked content as she nibbled on a biscuit and then sipped fresh juice. Constance gracefully took baby Louis onto her lap and the boy giggled as she bounced her knee. Constance pointed to the birds, the plants, and the cloud. The child followed her finger, even reaching for it and pointing her in the direction he wanted her to focus. A smart boy with the world before him. He was well fed and content. His full head of hair hid the features of is round face. Aramis leaned against the tree and with his elbow and bit at his thumbnail. He wanted to hold him… he wanted to guide him, teach him the duties of a man and his responsibility to the world he now found himself a part of.

Aramis wanted his family. He wanted to express his love for them the way Porthos did for Alice and d'Artagnan for Constance. He wanted to hold Anne, nuzzle her neck, and feel her against him. Aramis rubbed his forehead and clinched his jaw.

He couldn't have Anne, and he couldn't acknowledge his child. It was crippling at times, particularly as he spent his days at the palace during his duties. But like a true soldier he powered through, watched from a distance, and tried his best not to be noticed. Rekindling the rumors — despite them being truthful — had nearly cost him his life. And what of Anne? What of his son? It was not something he wanted to repeat. And, while he felt grief for his own loss, he understood it and sympathized with King Louis. To think that his wife had betrayed him in such a way, and to have it thrown in his face as a means of aggression had nearly destroyed him.

Armies shifted against the tree and crossed his arms over his chest. He wanted more than anything to tell her how much he loved her, admired her, and much he wanted to be with her. But as he stood there, contemplating his own actions, and hers, he wouldn't. Instead he would continue watching and quietly say his goodbyes alone. He would not risk their lives, their futures, because of his needs and wants. Instead, Aramis' words would be left unheard, unappreciated, quietly whispered and lost to the winds.

The passion they had shared for one night would be all they would ever have. It would have to last him a lifetime. He clutched at his chest feeling the cross within the fabrics of his doublet and blouse.

It was selfish of him… he knew that. Wanting to share with her all he could. Wanting her to know he was thinking of her, loving her, and resisting his affection for her. He wanted her to know that she had turned him into knots, and that living without her was as devastating as losing her.

It was because he loved her that he wouldn't risk exposing her to ridicule. He wouldn't risk speaking to her privately in the gardens, and he wouldn't let her know his feelings for her. He would hold that inside, bury it deep, and use the battlefields as a way to exercise those feelings. He wouldn't put her in harm's way, nor would he put his son into a questionable position. It was best to let it rest and allow them to live the life they had been given. He would continue to watch from afar and admire the man his son would become, and watch his mother stand proud amongst his supporters.

Aramis swallowed the lump in his throat. Looked again at the dauphin — his son — and then at the queen. His heart raced when she looked up, and for a moment it appeared as though she had seen him, but she quickly looked away. He relaxed his shoulders, felt his heart clench, and he griped the hilt of his weapon tighter.

"Goodbye," he said. His words disappeared on the breeze, and he turned slowly away from the gardens. The sun caught the back of his doublet and reflected off the scabbard of his sword as he walked away.

Anne looked again at the figure that faded into the distance. She wiped her dress at her thigh, felt her own heart clench, and she swallowed. She looked at her son and smiled warmly. Every time she looked at him she saw hints of his father and whether he knew it or not, Aramis would always be remembered.