Chapter 9: Immensely

Porthos: I'm back! And with my new cane! -whips it out-

Rochefort: -comes in and karate chops it and then leaves-

Porthos: O.O Can he do that?

Me: Yes, yes he can.

Buckingham: Ahahahahaha! -leaves-

Porthos: O.o Can he do that?

Me: No, no he can't.

Porthos:... Aren't you going to do something?

Me: Right after Antoinette does the disclaimer. You're on!

Antoinette: Radiolover1029 does not own any trademark to the Three Musketeers except the plot twists she designed outside of the movie's frame and me... Which is weird.

Aramis: I wouldn't mind owning you.

Porthos: Ooh! Can he do that, Antoinette?

Antoinette: -.- What do you think?

Aramis: Yes?

Antoinette: -thumps Aramis on head-

Me: -finds Buckingham and thumps him on the head-

Aramis: Ow!

Buckingham: Hey!

Porthos: Oh yeah... they can do that.

Cheery clouds loomed over Paris today. The luminscent glow through wafting air particles clumped together especially shone over the grand palace. Sun beamed on bronze handles, silver awnings and gold chainmail on the elite guards patrolling the checkerboarded courtyards. With the new glory raining down as the forecast, everything was buffed and polished to the most extreme standards. For today, and only today to the fortunate staff, was the open parade of the British emmissaries. Arriving only two hours before high noon, there would be a marvelous luncheon served on new china and French linens just after the two headlining countries- France and England- sign on the dotted line of the hopeful peace treaty.

Drafted by Cardinal Richelieu, it is the only chance for France to reconnect with King James and his people. French armies already scattered on the Channel and the borders to Spain and with a lowering treasury the country was in dire need to bear and grin a mere morning and partial afternoon with rivals.

Oh, what rivals they were. King James had many trusted allies in his kingdom to snoop out any sneaky suspicions on France's part. It was by decree, Lord Buckingham would deliver his ilk to the palace in a fashionable state to oversee as his master's puppet. Antoinette neither liked the man nor the treaty in Cardinal's hand. A peace treaty, as determinable to seek an end, was not the right approach what with Spanish forces aligned with the Pope in Rome, not with Britain.

Once upon a time, England allowed their Church's devotion to Catholicism to win favor of the Pope in his Holy Roman Empire vision. But a visionary was only what he came to be. A century ago in the House of Tudor, the Head of the Church was proclaimed not to be the Pope or Europe's predominant source of religion, but to the current king. If England would sign the treaty, Spain would continue forcing their brutal troops down French barricades and the Pope would take special eye on France's actions. For if France was allied for too long, she could turn over as Protestant.

Cardinal's actions were meant to tack the peace long enough to backdoor England with allying secretly with Spain, thus upsetting the balance of an entire continent of warfare and rage. As admiral he thinks, Cardinal Richelieu knew that as a holy man it is ungodly. However being a man of progress, forwarding France would right over the original sin of betrayal through documentation.

All these ideas battered around Antoinette's head like a ram when attending the Queen privately. Every lady must dress and perfect the Queen separately. The parade day just so happened to top off Antoinette's list of things to think of.

The creme colored brush with the finest bristles with a silk touch ran over the Queen's wavy hair. With each stroke of the brush, the hair parted from the rest and smoothed out until at the very end the hairpiece curled.

Anne seemed out of place. She usually radiated in her sun soaked private chambers. The ghost of a smile was envisioned in her head.

She cleared her throat. "I am sure Your Majesty is most thrilled for today's parade. The festivites...most extravagant," She chose her words carefully. Taking sides in court were detramental. Can't take back what you done or said. Speaking with the Queen on certain subjects was no exception.

Antoinette once recalled a story of one of the older ladies chiming about German clocks and the cuckoo cuckoo birds within them. Little did Lady Brunhilda knew ever since she was a child, Queen Anne had nightmares of German made clocks and so had every clock in Vienna sent away to the countryside, where she would less likely travel.

The Queen made no movement other than one blink and to soften her lips with a balm. Her attentiveness in her appearance wasn't as focused as yesterday.

"Quite,"

Her voice quieted afterthe brush set besides her. The clang of barrettes and pins grabbed in between hair foliciles, staging her hair in the premiere French twist. A whalebone barrette clipped the hair in the back with few curly cues of hair matting on each side.

"Anxiety," Antoinette fixed an astray pin in the back.

The Queen clutched her nails. "Nerve wrecking." He rbreath hitched against her upper ribs like a wet child in the winter clinging to a warm blanket. "It's the company that follows such excursions." Antoinette raised a brow.

"Lord Buckingham," She might have guessed. Rumors all around she had heard previously about an Austrian dauphine and the English rogue spending a day in the cozy winterlands in tucked away hills in her country. A meal, a game or two, and a gracious ball led both courtiers striken with heat and playing a game of their own all night long. That same young dauphine had experienced heartbreak and matured too fast when the following year it was made an engagement to another man. Two more years after that and a marriage later, that same innocent girl who rather played with her beloved dogs than be played by the most vile yet attractive man in the Western side, sat at the vanity with her lady in waiting preparing her for her first encounter of Buckingham who no doubtly stole many things from the French Queen: her innocence, her playfullness, her family, her freedom, and her life in Austria.

Antoinette never brought about Austria, or anything to do with the Queen's past life. It was too much to see burden written on her face. Downcast from the mood, she picked back up her biased tone. "I am sure his pecularity to games will delight the court,"

For a flick of a moment, Antoinette could have sworn before God that the Queen narrowed the eyes at herself. Not Antoinette, but Anne. Was it hate? Self inflicted pain that aroused? Or could have it been the loss of sweet nature she adapted as her outer shell? Billions of questions, unaswered, went through her mind. And it scared and filled her with pride to know there was another side of the Queen she didn't expose often. On this rare occasion, Antoinette couldn't help put wanting to prode those feelings.

"On the contrary, I'm not willing to partake in Lord Buckingham's attraction to frivolous affairs," she said coolly.

Antoinette quirked half a smile. "Wouldn't want to bore yourself from his dulcet tones,"

The Queen's smile approached full speed ahead. Her laughter wasn't as musical. It was... cynical but in a charming tone. If such a thing were possible.

"You don't warm up to him?" Her glee matched in the eyes.

She remarked straightly, "Not even if he lit a bonfire,"

"Humorous," Her curls seemed to shrink back more closer and precise than looser and down. A hand sprayed the bottle of perfume stored in the left hand corner. She bragged confidently, "I've collected a lady not smitten on sight,"

As much as Antoinette adored the Queen's state of being brightening, she laughed. "Oh, Your Majesty. There are many more like me. Just not of the same social class," She gestured to herself dramatically. She skimmed over the hand carved jewelry box with dozens of earrings. An entire collection devoted in one single box. Not a single piece was put one that glittered. But no piece of diamond or earthly gifts could have impressed a crowd without the Queen's dazzling smile.

The Queen lifted her chin and cocked it to her lady. "How is he?"

She stiffened, "Content,"

She had felt the flush of red scatter across her cheeks. One day. And then she would be out. The Quen had made sure of that as of last night.

"Don't fret," her voice softened, eyes cast low. "With your papers in hand, you are free as of today. Confind in me, freedom is not something to be taken lightly," A shade darkened the Queen's eyes noticeably. The aura she was famously known for omitted instantly with the change of mood. Antoinette felt again the pang of guilt to see her Queen reminding herself of what could never be- the King and her. "Use it wisely,"

"Will do, Anne,"

The Queen quickly turned at the sound of her name. She had thought it foreign but internally settled down remembering her insistance of calling her Anne out of sight. In a rush, she asked, "What do you do when you are in love? How do you approach it?"

Confused and put on the limelight, Antoinette stuttered her breath out. "Your Majesty?"

The Queen didn't stand but it was obvious her feet were jittery in motion. Her golden and peach lined dress with the flat shoulders rustled nervously. Her hands wiped at each other when sweat was beginning to form. "Should I fall head first into the firepit or carefully walk on it like broken glass on the heel? Or do I ignore the impulse,"

"Your Majesty," She calmed her down. Queen Anne pleaded silently for answers or retribution to her swing of moods. Antoinette put aside the choices of jewelry in mind on the vanity and knelt at the Queen. Her questioning eyes noticed her dress needed to smooth out the wrinkles and if she furrowed her brows anymore there would be a deepening aging line waiting for her prematurely. "I'm not sure I am the one to talk about love with. That's for your heart to decide. No man nor woman can define the affairs with the heart by guidelines. Do what you must do," she answered with confidence.

The Queen grabbed her hands suddenly. "Tell me more of your life," she begged. Antoinette did not know what to say. Her mouth agap, her mind still unfolding pieces of her life. There were things the Queen already knew and then there were things the Queen knew not to ask of Antoinette due to her hesitation in retailiation.

The Queen added, searching for her lady in waiting to respond, "You must have gained wisdom from your family that wasn't sprinkled onto mine," Her cherub face was rounded again like a small child's. A small child that asked for help or a friend in need looking for advice.

As honored she had felt, it was nothing compared to the drums of beating guilt, pain, and heavy loss crushing against her lungs. Her world spun around her in mad delirium. Her eyes pictured not the floor or the Queen's chair. Instead she saw before her a pool of memories. Once locked in a secure reserve, the Queen opened up the box and let Pandora suffer the consequences.

"My father was stubborn; paired with my headstrong mother," Her throat chocked with emotion. "Both lusted after each other until one day they held no room in each other's hearts. Father despised mother and did not wish to look upon her resembalance on my face. Mother failed two marriages at her untimely death. Why should I give advice on love?" Tears ruined the bride between her cornea and above her cheekbones. Showing weakness again unsettled her. The Queen might have struggled with her burdens but she drifted away in a happy mood to deal with her Pandora's box later on. There was no stopping for Antoinette's box to lock itself back up for another time.

Improbable.

The Queen stood up, bringing Antoinette up with her. Hand intact, the Queen looked eye to eye with Antoinette.

"Because as much as you don't want to listen to it, you are your mother. You live, laugh, and love without consequence. Just like her, so I'm told. You could easily tell off one of my ladies and they wouldn't backlash. Your unfathomed courage matches your heart for those you care for the most. Your father and mother may not have held together but they had to at one point. You are the focal point of their once love," Antoinette forced herself to overload and her tears had stopped before the first one cascaded down. She swallowed her pride down her throat like bitter cough syrup.

She sat the Queen back down, trying to act like nothing happened. She pushed a hand on her forehead to the impending headache building. Her hand glided over to the jewels. She sniffled, "Your Majesty, gold or bronze?"

"Gold," she smiled. Antoinette began placing the amount of tear dripping jewels on her ears and neck. It was just before she contemplating putting another few on her shoulders sewn on the dress when the Queen slyly added, "It's the same color Aramis thinks of your heart on your sleeve,"

One more tear shed. This time Antoinette let it dry on her cheek.

"About face!"

Captain Jussac and his subordinants cried out at their posted stations. An army worthy of 10,000 soldiers stood in French blood red with the emblem crossed over their front uniforms. Many stood with their hands on the hilts or the brute of the spear they wield. All were silent on the fields, waiting for the Duke and his emissary of men and most likely women.

Until the facade appeared, the Queen appointed Lady Antoinette a position on the high balcony with the other ladies surrounding the Queen, the King with his men, and Richelieu. Primmed and ready to prune, Antoinette drew in her eyes down by the balcony ledge. Somewhere near the front fountain statute stood the Musketeers. All handsome and spiffed for the occasion.

She had wondered to Porthos whom exoberated happiness whenever free money was spent on him lavishly. Athos neither cared for the new clothes or money. Either way it would be spilt and spent on good wine from the taverns.

And then she thought of Aramis. He always made a good impression. A marvelous second impression. And even a third time he was simply stupendous. Antoinette thought the world of him. She had only hoped to spend her time at the parade with him.

But alas, c'est la vie. That's life. According to superiors they come from two separate worlds. Him, a strong, militaristic, tin soldier. Her, a fair lady with riches to come and titles to endore. At the end of the day, it mattered not. She would be with him as he would be with her. No middle cut.

Her childish demands rang through her head but were outbeat by the King in yet another green ensemble. This one was forest green with a belt buckle hat on top of his ginger hair. One little feather wafted in the wind gently. The hard exterior of the jacket had jagged lines etched into the design, and the flamboyant pants seemed to ridicule his posture.

Antoinette, being the good Comtesse who did not spend her weekends killing others on missions, kept in her laughter.

"Well, where is he, then? It's just appalling manners," he scolded his opponent. Richelieu, from the corner of her eye, was caught between a nervous laugh and an eye roll.

No need for either gesture. The hot sun, whose rays casted brightly on Paris, turned gloomy. Great shadows overtook the sun as a big cloud. Gasps and small shrieks from the audience sent there attention to the heavens. In place of a cloud was something similiar to plywood. It looked to be the bottom of an ocean liner ship any armada would have.

Except it was flying.

That's right. An airborne ship that sailed through the skies as it's sea. Antoinette gripped onto the Queen when she swayed from surprise. Constance heaved the Queen upright as everyone glances above them. Hovering over the palace and all their heads was a ship attached to what would be a balloon of some sorts.

"Drop anchor!" said a man on board.

"Damn his impudence!" the King cursed. He cocked his head innocently. "What is that thing called anyway, Richelieu?"

The Cardinal, for once at a lost for words, implied, "An airship, Your Majesty?"

Dark shades of purples and blues stood out to Antoinette. This was no apocalyptic doom, it was the emissary Buckingham promised. Might as well be the same thing. Antoinette rolled her eyes mentally.

The King raised an eyebrow at his visor. "Why don't I have one of those?"

Richelieu slid it under the table, hoping the King was too in awe of the airship machine rather than complain to him again. "An oversight on our part,"

"Right, right. Well, build me one,"

Curious to how they would weigh anchor, everyone on top of the balcony rushed after the King and the Queen to lower down to the courtyard squares. Just before marking the front door steps a loud pang of metal hitting cobblestone bricks scratched everyone's ears. Antoinette watched the swing of the airship made it's way to correct it's direction down.

As if God sent a sign from above, because the ship moved it's weight in a different direction it hit the side of one of the French flags posted. The staff bent like a twig and dropped unceremoniously to the ground in horror.

The airship lowered slowly to the ground. On deck, eight men in royal blue slid down on provided ropes on each side of the longboards. They secured the lines of the ship, checked the anchor and let the touchdown go smoothly.

Antoinette hurried her steps away from the royal brigade to march near where the King and Cardinal situated for the arrival of their guest. To the sides were men of military decoration. Four had stood out. From the the first sign of them, Antoinette disobeyed orders and swiftly, while everyone stared at the door with the plank boards emerging at the front of the ship, to Athos and Aramis in line.

Aramis' eyes flickered to her, widened. Antoinette stood besides him, eyeing his new wardrobe. The King delivered upon his word. He never looked handsome-r in professionally tailored black suits with blue and gold belts. However there was no time for exchanges when every soldier knelt to one knee in salute to royalty. To-

"Buckingham," Athos murmured. Antoinette dipped into a curtsy without haste.

Lord Buckingham posed dramatically at the foot of his ship decked in royal blue like his men. His voluminous hair looked the same, so was the stupid earring he wore in the one ear but not the other. She made note of how green the King became. He was green with envy.

"Blue. Oh," The King scoffed at himself for trusting what gut he had for mistrusting the royal dressmaker.

"Your Majesty," Buckingham flourished with an ostentatious bow. He smirked at the young King in his outfit alongside Richelieu. "Love the outfit. Very retro. We were all wearing those in London when was it, last year or the year before?" His scornful yet playful nature kicked in.

King Louis huffed. He forced a grin. "Lord Buckingham, I trust your journey wasn't too uncomfortable,"

Buckingham's eyes set dreamily at his ship, bragging and boasting waiting to be done. "Not at all. No. On the contrary. Handles like a dream and keeps me one step closer to heaven,"

Mad feelings of Venice flooded back then. It was not his appearance that upset her. No, he was easy on the eyes. It was the crude spirit he possessed thinking he ruled all and could control everyone in sight. Slaughtering free will.

How badly she wished to say to him, "Yeah because your one step away from hell," However her reservations burrowed deep in the bleeding, scarred parts of her hardened heart. The voice he had- English born was filled with snooty remarks and smirks curling upon his curt moustache.

"Cardinal," He acknoweledged the man in red with another bow. He knelt in place and grabbed for the Cardinal's hand to kiss the ring. Although rough and cut short, the slithering smile of Buckingham told another story of his religious endeavors. He tucked his hands together, perched like a peacock to flaunt his feathers.

"Of course, being a servant of God, you have no need for such crude devices,"

Antoinette heard the rough laugh of Richelieu pipe out of his hoarse throat. "I'll be sure to say a prayer for Your Lordship's continued health,"

Buckingham drawled, "Please do. I would hate for something unfortunate to happen during my visit. After all, were I, say, to be struck by lightning during my time in Paris, well, England would have a martyr, France would be vilified, and the Cardinal would have to re-examine the power of his prayer,"

She blanched seeing Richelieu have only the sliver of fear- something he did not tend to show. Behind the stadium of the royal show came another contender into the play. Queen Anne. Constance and another lady stood behind her as a shield and defenders.

Snidely the Queen put out, "And we wouldn't want that. Lord Buckingham,"

The curl of his moustache intended to the Queen sent Antoinette into her protective streak. If it were her way, the Queen would be safely guarded without that bear mauling her in public. Like a cat trapping his mouse, he enticed her in the circle of conversation.

Antoinette could only pray alongside with the others. "Anne. Your Majesty," He mock pretended to correct himself in front of the King and guests. "I must say your beauty is far more radiant than I remember,"

While the Queen hid her face behind stony features, the crash of the King sent him back into reality. The one where he realized he isn't truly the best leader he could possibly be for France.

Disheartened, he asked, "You've met before?"

"A long time ago,"

To add salt to the wound, Buckingham swept his gaze over the Queen's youthful figure. "An evening I shall cherish forever,"

The King turned to Cardinal, "Is there anyone he doesn't know?"

Cardinal produced, "An extraordinary man,"

Buckingham leered, "You were quite impressive," Antoinette sputtered incoherent French curses beneath her breath wishing for a dagger and a headstone for him. Buckingham corrected himself for the perverse comment with some intent to destroy her, "Impressive at cribbage. Perhaps we can play a hand or two during my stay,"

She replied coolly, "I'm afraid I'm not much for games anymore,"

Frowning, Buckingham showered from pride to small disappointment and then back to the same sneer he wore previously. "Shame. You don't know what you're missing,"

The Queen hissed back, "Your Lordship shall just have to play by himself. I recommend solitaire,"

He ignored her to return his encounter with a red-beaten King Lous XIII. "King James is most eager to hear your peace proposal," he drawled with tad annoyance.

"Right," he quirked through thin lips. "Well, shall we?"

The King and Richelieu led him away from the distraught Queen in dire need, only to stop by the kneeling Musketeers and the deep in curtsy Antoinette. She thanked her mother for having strong heels in these cases.

Buckingham hummed to himself. "Now this is a pleasant surprise,"

"Another acquaintance of yours, I see," said the irritated King.

Athos narrowed his eyes up. "We've met, yes,"

Buckingham tsked. He pointed his finger to the leader of the troupe in retailiation. "As I recall, last time I saw you, you were on your knees as well. Most unfortunate habit," Injury was made when without a glance to the curtsying lady, he addressed, "Wouldn't you agree, Lady Antoinette?"

She bit her tongue down and remained calm at the moment. If Aramis could hold her hand he would crush it against his palm to resist the temptation to utter a word. The box creaked open with dulcet tones of Buckingham echoing out.

Athos clenched his teeth. "It's a habit I shall have to break during our next encounter,"

Buckingham challenged back, "I look forward to it. Lady Antoinette. In the meantime, shall we talk peace?"

He had finally left and there were six distinct audible sighs coming from the arena. One from the emotionally overwhelmed Queen walking besides her ladies. One from D'Artagnan would decided to remain mum on the first royal occasion invited to. Three from the Musketeers, and the last to Antoinette. The last sighs still rolled around the air. So many unspoken words. Most of them fighting talk.

With the parade dismissed, figuring the airship was all Lord Buckingham had to show off to a military troupe of 8,000 armed guards, Aramis stole Antoinette away to the private gardens where only few guards were postred at the far off corners. At the norm, Antoinette would be hosting lunch with the men, slap Planchet on the arm for childishly digging into the pastries before the meat, and then let the stories come forth into a hazy afternoon.

However this was but anything of the norm. There they were in the garden, uninterrupted and ready to soak in the boiling sun from couped up shadows in the palace. She lazily drew a smile. Her hand coiled around a prickly lily-of-the-valley from it's roots, twilring it around her hand by the stem. The aroma of lily mixed with fresh evergreen leaves oiled her hair when she placed it behind her ear.

Aramis breathed in the new scent at ease, wrapping an arm tightly around her waist. They took their sweet time over the cobblestone paths. No words need be spoken between the two other than the occasional whimsical sigh.

That was not the case for Antoinette.

Aramis said out of the blue while passing a trickle of a pond, "I cannot recall the last time we strolled through a garden,"

Netta laughed quietly to herself, smudging a hair piece in it's practical place. She corrected, "The monastary we visited in Spain,"

The flow of the water besides them ebbed and flowed southward to the opening of a stream. The downhill rapids rocked against the rocks and circled back to the center of the garden near the terrace.

The dark hum of Aramis' breath disturbed the peace for a brief moment. "Our first mission outside of France. Riveting,"

A north bound wind kissed their warm cheeks. His eyes grew remorseful; but Antoinette paid no mind for it. She was used to Aramis' sudden shift in conversations. Other people didn't have to assume the woeful role of Musketeer. The adventure she thrilled for, but the purpose of the mission she soon forgotten until the moment she thrust the sword to slay a life. For Antoinette, she dealt with it like Porthos: distractions and a glass of Bourdeaux. Her lover's healing process offered altercations.

His soul rested in constant warring states. First madness, then guilt, sorrow, and then finally the whole weighting pound of a gavel banged across his heavy heart. Missions weren't meant for the faint of heart. Aramis and Antoinette accepted that the moment they travelled together. Just, they never thought how much a killing or an assasination could deteriorate their souls.

"The sights?" The more conversation, the better distraction. Antoinette already felt her heart sink into the depths of the sea. Her first kill. A drowning. It wasn't her fault. It was a hired gunman who attempted to thwart her. She just got the better of him.

Mysteriously, he responded, "That too, I guess,"

"Wouldn't it be wonderful to visit there again?" She diverted her eyes again to the flowers and the springtime hymns of the trees and bees.

He grunted, "Perhaps," She raised her brow. Her posture leaned into his side. Antoinette's head rested pleasantly on his right shoulder, slowing their steps into a drifting forward waltz. "If the King granted us another mission there," he commented.

"Ohh," The waltz ended. Her vision of the Spanish country-side in the little pueblo inn with courtyards and sun bathing pools for entertainment. She wouldn't have minded a week or two there with Aramis. "Well, I was thinking when this is all over,"

"Over?" He glanced down at her.

She bit her lip nervously. "Being a Musketeer," He stopped altogether in there walk. His petrified state left only his hands to fidget to grasp her hand. The thought never had occured to him.

He, Aramis, eventually would retire from his duty to France and the current King to leave into a humble life. He played his part for so many long years. Orginally the occupation was too daring to give up. Then after the first year, with many regretable deaths of comrades and good friends, he would have wished it away. But then he steeled himself. Grew a harder shell about him. The mere presence of death still waked him, but emotional wise he could have been mistaken for a handsome wraith in disguise. "I know that's many years to come but... if the King could give you some time off- a vacation- we could go there," she summoned her courage.

He side stepped away from her hold on his arm. Needy, he grabbed her hands in his to pull her fluttering attention like a honeybee. From flower to flower. At the moment, he needed her unwavered attention. "Antoinette, we've discussed this," he said with all seriousness.

Taken back, she blinked back her eyes at him. Her sharp tongue bit against her teeth on the edge, "Yes, four years ago. I haven't mentioned it since," she reminded him. "What's so bad about travelling the world? You've done it many times before,"

Aramis scoffed. He turned his head to the palace and for any movement of guards. Once he was safe with speaking above his favored whisper, he lectured her, "Yes, because it was my duty. I did not have the privilege to come and go as I please as you do," The sudden haste of coming and going emotions darkened his eyes. The frightful attraction stoned Antoinette's reaction.

As soon as the bitter taste of acidic words left his lips he instantly felt his regret. Antoinette was a woman of many words, most sarcastic. To see her truly stunned at his appalled nature left him no choice but to soften the blow he swiftly delivered. He mentally recaptured his mind to not act on militaristic tactics all the time.

He pecked her lips softly, watching her eyes carefully. No water in her tear ducts. Only wounds on her shaky hands. "I'm sorry if I seem harsh but as of the moment, I don't think it's a good idea to take a trip down memory lane," he whispered into her ear. The lily brushed back against his nose, nearly tickling his senses.

Antoinette held onto her emotions. "So it would be best for all of us for me to stay at home alone, cooking and cleaning and waiting until you come back?" she asked him. Aramis shuffled his feet, out of character. He was walking on eggshells with his rapid tone.

"Not neccessarily," He waved their hands in the breeze. "You would have Planchet. Can't tell if that's a plus or negative in your book," He leaned forward for another kiss, hoping he had regained her favor. To his dismay, she let go of their hands to walk away.

"You don't get it," She turned at the heel on the fifth step. The distance between them was short but seemed to walk on forever for Aramis. He closed that gap leering after her.

"Then make me understand," His forehead nudged against hers, hands on her shoulders. She closed her eyes. A year's worth of moods swung back in forth like clockwork. Antoinette had to breath in and out several times sorting out the words that she needed to say versus the words she wants to say later on.

Aramis waited patiently, letting her take her time. "For the past year, I've been cooped up in the palace like a caged bird. Everytime I try to spread my wings, they clip them down,"

He lifted a side of his mouth. "I'm going out on a limb that 'they' implies the Cardinal and Rochefort,"

"Not just them. Everyone," Her whispers pleaded to strengthen into normal tones. "I cannot be someone I'm not here. Just for once I would like to get the hell out of here and explore every crevice on this earth. It's my dream. You know that,"

Aramis wondered out loud. He begged with her, something he hadn't done in a long while, "Haven't we traveled enough for two lifetimes?"

She laughed pitifully, drawing herself closer to him. "Yes, but never without a mission. We wouldn't have to worry about examining artifacts or planning motives for who to kill whom. Together we could relax and enjoy the destination," Sugar dreams of clouds in the sky, breezes on the beach, love in the air, the wind carrying them wherever and whenever. "Why are you so against it?" she asked him.

He wet his lips as if he could taste her visions on his taste buds. The sweet smell of lily transformed into various spices and cultural foods they dined together on. As much as he wished to savour each and every one, familiarizing them, he couldn't. The scent altogether disappeared, leaving the only French smell of lilies in his olfactory senses.

"Because of the pain it brings," His words choked on her mouth. "It's not the journey that bothers me as much as the destination you remember. Everyday I deal with my own hauntings of men and women I slain by my hand for some greater cause in France," He lifted a hand up. No flaws were detected by anyone but him. He could almsot imagine the strain of carrying the blades, the sweat formed in the heat of a battle, and the splotches of rusted blood- his or no- collected in between the grit of the lines. God's knitted creation was violated by inhumane disgust and tragedy. "I was once a priest, who did not believe in such principles to innocently slay no matter how much the person deserved it. Even though I am a Musketeer, I still retain an aspect from the teachings in Notre Dame. I've caused too much pain to go on back," His head seemed to cluster too many quick kills, where he didn't mind to check the victims as he ended their misery with the stop of a blade.

She held the back of his head. "We don't have to go back to those particular places. Start anew,"

Aramis sighed woefully. "There will always be a country we travel to with a stain of blood in a house, alley, or field that I shed. Just knowing is a burden enough,"

Antoinette could not change their pasts. There was nothing but time and prayer to heal that. Her dream she had confessed to him all those years ago, still left her unfulfilled. Wouldn't there be a time for them to enjoy each others company? No mission, no Richelieu, no King, nor France to stop them? After all the six years she had dealt with between one conflict to another, the dull childhood dream of seeking love and adventure still thumped like a drum to her heart. "So... what would you do if you retired?"

Only then did Aramis smile. He kissed her longingly. Antoinette felt his lips as a serene gift. It wasn't necessary or out of the ordinary for Aramis to answer a question with a little passion. He hummed to himself, laxing her in his strong arms.

"Rest in peace and live the rest of my days with you. Settled down, get married, maybe kids down the line. Simplicity," he said eyes darting to the sky.

Antoinette visibly stiffened. "Marriage? Children?"

Aramis, concerned, tore his gaze from the sun to her. "Has the thought never occured to you?" An eyebrow cocked.

Her widened eyes did not reduce. He checked her vitals, knowing this was the real reaction she had on. Not some play along one. "It has," she said twiddling her hands nervously. "I know I'm with you for all the years I have left. But..." Her guarantee met with a hesitation.

He frowned. "Not marriage,"

She gasped at the accusation. "No- I mean yes. No, I meant... Yes, I want to be married eventually but it's the settling down part I oppose to. The world's spinning too fast. Make it stop!" She pounded a hand to her head as she shook her stupid hesitations away.

He wrestled her arms to her sides. "Netta, at ease," he commanded soothingly. "In no way am I asking your hand to fasten to mine just yet," Just then he noticed her skin blanched and her hands started to moisten from angst. She had flashbacks swimming in her usual warm eyes with fervority. "Antoinette, I'm not your father. Nor are his antics like mine," he gritted his teeth letting his syllable soak into her head one at a time.

She came to, crinkling her nose at the mention of her father. Antoinette said ridiculously, "I know that,"

He sent a kiss to her forehead and a loving hug melted her against him, molding together. Another kiss on her forehead trailing down to the tip of her chin followed. "I respected your decision four years ago when I proposed to you. And I still do today. We have all the time in the world for our future. Let's just enjoy the present," His hands wandered about teasingly at her lower back. The kneading in her back unlocked those nerves that stiffened her spine. The flashbacks had stopped and she was melting in his muscular arms.

She laughed seductively. "You know, I thought you a fool when you presented me an unpaid for ring in the dealer's shop. I thought it was a ploy to get me to bed,"

"Then I had two motives," he said taking in her lips again. "While we are on the vague topic of the future, how many chidren would you desire," He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Aramis!"

He laughed incredulously. "You can talk about marriage but I cannot talk about children?"

She tried with delight to escape his hold of her. "At this point a boy sounds wonderful. That way these ladies won't be stealing him away to play dress up and tea time," she joked.

He sobered mockingly. "They've deprived so much from you,"

"Stop patronizing me,"

"Or what? You'll en garde with a tulip?" His lips teased her once again.

She rolled her eyes. "No, but I think I'll join an abbey and learn celibacy from the nuns. Apparently they travel to the sister abbey to commision more followers to the Christian faith," she emphasized with a traitorous smile.

He scolded, "Evil. Using abstinence and religion against me. You've learned well from Porthos," Her miracle of a laugh softened his heart like butter in August. He slyly tucked her arm in his leading her astray the path that was meant for walking, onto the grass. "But I'm afraid forgiveness will cost you," he tuned into his preaching abilities mixed with the traits of his minx.

She groaned at the timing. She looked around self consciously. "This time can we at least make it to my room?"

He laughed, taking her behind a great big weeping willow tree behind a pair of oaks. "No promises," His hands went to work on unfastening the dress.

Eventually they did make it back to her chambers after a quick round in the gardens. They had barely managed to look presentable when the door knob clicked shut. Amidst the passion they had shared, brought to surface other swept under the rug issues they had waited for a year to talk about. Antoinette wanted to talk about them before something else should happen but Aramis insistent needs jumped her list of priorities askew.

She had awaken alone and nestled inside the comforter and white linens. Her hair slightly touseled as she roused. Her gaze shifted to the empty side to her right. Antoinette grabbeda piece of parchment with scribbles in Aramis' hand.

She wraped the sheets around her as she sat up.

Dearest Antoinette,

As I pen this note soon to be attached to your pillow down, I look upon your sleeping beauty face. Such peace we have found in the last few days. My heart had nearly beat out of it's socket the moment I first set eyes on you. If it be a year or a thousand years, no amount of time would distance the love and happiness I hold for you as you have done for me.

Alas, it is I to be leaving you this morning. I don't think it would be a proper thanks to the King should I arrive at the breakfast table with you without first donning on another outfit. As much as I wish to be holding you the moment you awaken and not ready sleepily my letter, it will come by soon.

For penance of my terrible act of leaving you the satisfaction to spend the morning in between the sheets with each other, I have plucked from the gardens a new lily. Seeing as the last one was discarded somewhere about the grounds. Breath in it's scent and remember of my undying heart for you and I.

Be with you,

Aramis

It was then the golden tears of happiness shed. She scrambled about to her dresser where a lily laid on top of the counter. Out of habit she sniffed the petals, smiling. Realizing she was clad in nothing she rushed to her wardrobe and plucked the first thing to wear, a lily blue brocade dress with navy blue spiralings delicately lacing around her body.

She hummed dreamily curling her wavy hair into it's beautiful setting. She sighed as her gaze turned to the lily in the reflection of the mirror. From the mirror she noticed her door open again. Hoping it to be him, she turned her head.

Millie, the maid entered with new towels and cleaned and pressed gowns no doubt were there for show when she would return to the Parisian residence instead of here.

"Your Ladyship is up and about at this hour?" A girlish blush roused on the maid's cheeks at her mistress brushing down the curls into looser strands.

"Yes, I had a... vigorous healthy sleep last night. Couldn't wait to rise," she responded with a sly smile snaking her lips. Her laughter went up to her eyes.

The maid started her routine of making the bed. To her surprise she had seen the side her ladyship did not usually sleep on, already rustled. "Who was the handsome guest in your bed?" she asked innocently.

Antoinette folded the parchement once her hair was settled down. The flower laid on top. A spritz of it's perfume waved to her being. "A very good man. One with morals, dignity, honor," she recalled happily.

The maid giggled as if it was a spoiled moment. "He sounds absolutely perfect,"

"Not perfect," she remembered. "The only things perfect is the dawn and her hopes," A sapphire clipping to each hole in her ears and a diamond necklace and off she went. The maid said her goodbyes at the flee of her ladyship.

Antoinette felt the euphoria taking over. The happy glaze that coated her pores heightened into a sweet sunrise tan. She teased her mind to embarass Constance the latest way to collect a healthier tan. Her steps in the hallway were not rushed or in panic of getting caught. At a slow pace she enjoyed for once the unnecessary length of the hallway.

One hallway opened up towards the side, the way to the Queen's wing. A flicker of movement was caught by Antoinette. She paused at the side edge. Her back to the wall, and her head cocked in the movement's direction. Going away from her was a womanly figure in gold with auburn tresses and the swagger of a cat. She inspected a step further and noticed the slink woman turn her heads in all directions except from behind to then go up the stairs to the Queen's hidden balcony on the top of the roof.

Milady de Winter. The Comtesse pursued her destination to the top, alarming Antoinette. She was here for one person- to meddle. Be it she might have allied with the Cardinal but even with France on her side, her affairs created disturbances with the pack of Musketeers and herself.

They must be warned. Or at least allow some of the guards to deal with her.

Antoinette straightened her composure but this time walked for only a short distance and a flight of stairs to finally meet with a young lad dressed in royal King blue.

She motioned for him. "Guard, there's an intruder in the Queen's wing. Please see it she's properly escorted," she sped up her exhaustion as if a chaotic event had took place.

The youngster nodded shakily before rounding up five or six more blue dressed guards to the direction Antoinette had given. She huffed a sigh, turning her person away from the ongoing commotion of guards.

Constance popped out from a room with a basket of sheets folded nicely in her arms. She walked over to Antoinette. "What was all that about?" she averted her eyes to the running guards.

"Vermin on the Queen's floor," she said inspecting a stray dust particle underneath a nail bud of hers.

Constance riveted, "A mouse?"

Antoinette shook her head. She turned her rolling eyes to the Queen's wing. An illusion appeared of a laughing Milady once again playing tricks on her. The more she had pretended to imagine the laugh, the worse her mood downed. "More like a rat,"

She gestured for Constance to lead the way for one last morning of duties. No need for Milady she had to remind herself with constant vigilance. She'll receive her just desserts eventually.

Antoinette's spirit returned to her when she served her hopeful Queen once reminding her why she had risen early in the first place.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she had giggled.

Ah, don't you hate it when you're in a good mood and then everything falls apart when you see something you dislike? Mood killer. :P

Anyway, from here on out, this will be more fast paced because of the action and I have to fill in the blanks because the movie doesn't show everything I wish to see. Plus I don't have to mind the Milady, Buckingham, or Cardinal scenes which are lengthy.

The peak of writing this chapter: the conversation between Aramis and Antoinette: it's more in depth and shows the two blossoming outside of the movie's standards.

The pit of writing this chapter: Trying to find words to describe Cardinal Richelieu's actions. And his voice. It does change line from line! From French, to English and I swear I heard a Spanish dialect once! But anywhoooo... REVIEW!