Disclaimer: Some parts of this chapter were taken directly from the title episode. Later on, this story will become completely AU, but for now, we're just taking a moment to set the scene.
The ceremony at the cathedral in Paris was ornate, lovely, and one of the longest which Anne had ever attended. She did not mind; she was a good Catholic woman, and she had little to do once she returned to the castle, save for walking amongst the gardens and hoping to amuse herself for the rest of the day until she saw her king again, and, as he had not appeared at the ceremony, she doubted she would be seeing much of him.
But by the time her escort of the musketeer and ladies accompanying her had returned her to the carriage which would take her back to the castle, Anne's body felt exhausted from sitting for so long, and she wanted nothing more than to stretch her legs.
She did not make it more than a mile or so before she held up a hand, surprised that she had even made it this far, indicating the musketeer riding outside that she wished to stop the carriage.
A moment later, the carriage pulled to a halt, and her ladies all glanced up in surprise, no doubt wondering what could possess their queen to wish to stop in the middle of the road.
"My lady," Comtessa Jeannette called out reproachfully as the musketeer guiding them, a man whom Anne had been a little disappointed to see was not her musketeer, handed Anne down from the golden carriage, and, frankly, Anne was surprised that it had taken her so long to do so. "Do not do this. It is dangerous, when we have but one guard, and improper, without the King to accompany you."
Anne lifted a gloved hand, silencing the woman almost at once, and found herself smiling as Jeannette's mouth snapped shut.
She was not a woman to be ordinarily pleased with humiliating others, and yet, could not find it within herself to leave Comtessa Jeanette, spy of the Cardinal and one-time spy of Marie de Medici, entirely in peace. The woman had wounded her brutally over the years through her espionage, and though Anne had forgiven her for most of it, there were some things Jeannette d'Garnay could not be forgiven for, no matter how many times Anne prayed to the Lord to give her peace about them.
Her other ladies stayed silent, and Anne wondered at that, why they were more than willing to accept her odd behavior, even if she knew that, deep down, they disapproved of it, when Jeannette so openly voiced her opinions against the Queen. Perhaps it was the Cardinal's influence, his wish to keep her in line no matter the means to do so.
She supposed that she could always trust Jeannette to be honest with her, in that regard, even if she could not in most others.
It was not a particularly reassuring thought, that one.
Anne spun abruptly to her musketeer guard, uncaring of the mud that scraped over her slippers at the movement, and gave him a pleasant smile, knowing that, while she may be the Queen of France, it was up to his judgment whether or not she could go through with what she was planning. He was tasked with her protection, after all.
She thought he looked familiar, this musketeer; Porthos, her mind supplied, from somewhere buried deep. He looked a gruff character, and yet he seemed gentle enough, to her, in the few times she had seen him interact with...Aramis.
She felt guilty, remembering that he had almost been killed for something he had not done, had been arrested on her husband's orders. That when he was free and clear and that horrible situation with the Court of Miracles was cleared up, her husband had offered no apology, and yet here he was, still as ready to defend her as ever.
Gallant, always, these musketeers.
"I wish to walk amongst the people," she informed him coolly. "If you will accompany me."
He looked startled at her words, but quickly recovered. "Your Majesty, perhaps, if you wish t' walk amongst the people here, we should send out and wait for reinforcements. It may not be wise for you t' go alone."
Anne lifted a brow. "Nonsense. I have you, and my ladies, to protect me. Today is a day of giving and thanks, and I wish to give to those in worse situations than I, if I can?"
At these words, her ladies grudgingly climbed out of the carriage, holding up their skirts with shaking hands and glancing rather nervously at each other, and Anne wondered if they were more concerned about the mud from the streets sullying their dresses or the company of the common people. She herself knew that she was concerned about neither.
Porthos hesitated only a moment longer, eyebrows furrows in thought as he studied her, as if wondering about her intentions, and she wondered if he was considering sending for reinforcements anyway. Gallant, these musketeers were, but unafraid to do what they believed to be right for the service of those they held loyalty to, she had found.
She wondered if Porthos' loyalty to her came because he felt she deserved it or merely because she was the Queen of France.
"Very well, Your Majesty."
Anne bit back a grin and swept past him, a small bundle full of gold coins in her hands.
"Caroline!" she called out, and her favorite lady swept forward, taking her arm.
Caroline was younger than she by several years, pretty but usually quiet, the daughter of a French nobleman who had no aspirations other than finding his many daughters a suitable match, and it was for this reason that Anne knew she could trust the other woman.
She had not had cause to trust any of her ladies since Louis had sent away all of her Spanish ladies years ago, and it was...refreshing, to have someone by her side whom she could almost call a friend.
"Your Majesty," she whispered, very close to Anne's ear, her lips tickling it. "I do not think this is so good an idea. Give your ladies the money and let them disperse it...after what nearly happened in the Court of Miracles, many of the people are displeased with the monarchy..."
Anne smiled gently. "Nonsense. The people need to see that their King and Queen are just as caring for their plights as they are," she said, and that was as far as Caroline dared go, it would seem, for she fell in line alongside Anne after that and said nothing more.
The people crowded around their Queen as she walked, her ladies hurrying along behind her, the Queen's coins dispersed amongst them to hand out, and Porthos walking alongside her, holding up a hand to shield them off when they came too close.
Of course, not even the large musketeer could shield her from the awestruck touches of the common people, as they reached forward to touch her shoulders, the edge of her gown, such finery that they would never have, as though receiving a blessing from a saint.
"Your Majesty!"
"Your Grace!"
"Your Majesty!"
Anne smiled at each one of them, handing out coins to any hands she passed without a thought; today was, after all, a day of giving, and she had no need for the pretty coins to buy her dresses when these people were starving out of their homes.
It was an age old tradition, handing out coins to the common people and hearing their plights, even if there was little she could do for them beyond that without holding a formal hearing, and she knew well the likelihood of any of these people having the funds for that sort of thing.
One of the men in the crowd stepped out in front of her then, and Porthos stiffened, the hand which did not remain protectively in front of the Queen reaching for his sword's hilt.
The man was old, his greying hairs sticking out in ragged whiskers about his face, his eyes clouded and face sallow. He wore rags for clothing, and, the moment he realized he had the Queen's attention, he went down on one knee, bowing his head respectfully until she acknowledged him.
He did not have to wait long.
"Your Majesty," he whispered, and Anne could only hear him for the silence which had fallen over the crowd. "I beg of you, mercy."
Anne stepped forward, holding out her purse of coins invitingly, but the old man simply shook his head, falling back on the balls of his feet. "I cannot accept your gift, Your Majesty. I only ask a pittance of you, a mercy for my daughter." When he saw that he had the Queen's attention, he went on, "She was attacked by the Red Guard not two nights ago, and is being held up in the Bastille for a crime which she did not commit, Your Majesty. Please, you must help her."
Anne stepped forward, ignoring the musketeer's harsh whisper to stay back, lest she fall for some sort of trap, and taking the old man's hands in her own to give him a reassuring smile. "I will do whatever I can to assist your child, monsieur," she told him, gently. "In the meantime, I beg of you to take this small gift from me, as a promise that she will be restored to you." And she held out the golden purse once more.
The old man hesitated; she could see in his eyes the thoughts running through his head, and, before he could protest again, pressed the purse into his hands, closing his fingers over it.
And then he was sucked into the crowd by the other peasants, moving forward to touch or receive coins from their coin, but Anne could not bring herself to forget about him, her eyes still troubled as she moved amongst the people, smiling and making promises that she only hoped she could keep.
Porthos had never been assigned to guard the Queen alone before. Frankly, he wondered why the King had not sent the usual number of musketeers to protect her, and then thought that the King probably had not expected her to get out of her carriage and walk with the people.
If it was simply to escort her to the cathedral where she might make her prayers and then back to the palace, surely the King, naïve as he was, didn't think there was any chance of her coming to harm.
He wondered at that, when so recently there had been attempts made on the lives of both the king and the queen, but did not question his orders.
Besides, the Queen's activities were proving to be far more distracting than he'd originally thought.
To begin with, her ladies were beautiful, and not just in the way that Aramis saw beauty, in everything that had legs, but truly beautiful, and so Porthos had managed to amuse himself during the ceremony at the cathedral easily enough, and now this.
He hadn't thought to look to Queen Anne for recklessness, stubbornness. In the time that he had served the French Court, he had always assumed she was a quiet, loving wife of the King, a pretty face, for this was the aura that seemed to want others to see.
And yet...she had given that token to Aramis, as if she thought he deserved especial accolades for his saving her, had insisted on going out amongst the people today.
It was not something he thought King Louis would be caught doing if he could help it, nor was it something he thought the King would approve of his wife doing.
Porthos wondered, idly, what else he had misjudged of the Queen's character, even as he pushed back a particularly daring commoner, who seemed to feel the need to grab the Queen's hand, rather than simply touching it.
The Queen did not seem perturbed by this. She only smiled, handing the overeager man a golden coin that was more than Porthos made in a week of service to the Crown, and moving on.
He did not know how long they walked with the people, only that, by the time the Queen and her ladies finally seemed to succumb to fatigue, the sun was high in the sky and their carriage was far from them.
"I suppose we'll have to walk back," Lady Jeannette sighed then, looking pointedly at Porthos, as if she thought he could materialize carriages out of thin air.
If he'd had a partner with him, as he'd asked Treville to send one, even though the King had expressly demanded only one guard on his queen today, he might have been able to. As it was, he didn't dare chance leaving the Queen alone in this crowd which, rather than thinning out, seemed only to be growing.
The walk back was relatively silent, the people's cries out to the Queen the only noise as they moved toward the carriage, Porthos standing as close to the Queen as he could to protect her, and Caroline handing out the rest of the Queen's coin indiscriminately.
It was not until they had returned to the carriage, and Porthos was helping the Queen back into it, that she leaned down and whispered into his ear, "And your musketeer brother, Aramis? Is he well?"
Porthos blinked at the question, glancing up at her, but the Queen was already stepping into the carriage, and the next lady was waiting impatiently for him to hand her in as well.
He just managed to give the Queen a curt nod before moving back to his horse, shaking his head in wonderment.
There had been musketeers who had unflinchingly saved the Queen's life before. He didn't understand her sudden interest in Aramis for doing so, but perhaps telling his brother in arms about the incident would lighten his spirit, if only a little.
Porthos left the Queen's presence only when she had been returned to the safety of the palace, shaking his head as he did, not entirely sure whether to sigh or laugh at the Queen's utter lack of comprehension of the danger she might have found herself in, walking about the slums of Paris. How many of those determined to touch her for some holy blessing or, more likely, a spare bit of coin, would just as gladly attempt to slit her throat, given the chance to do so?
He sometimes thought the royals were insane. Still, they provided a wealth of entertainment, so long as one had the right humor.
Getting back to the musketeers' garrison was far easier without the presence of the Queen and her ladies, seeing as no one held the interest in a lone musketeer that they held in the coins of their Queen, and Porthos managed to find himself lunch at one of the merchant stalls along the way. Stew, rabbit, if he had to guess, stringy down the throat, and yet filling after a long morning with the Queen.
When he finally returned to the garrison, it was only to find the place entirely empty - save for one person, and his lips stretched into a thin smile.
"Aramis?"
Aramis glanced up from his new musket, setting aside the oiled cloth he'd been using to clean it to give Porthos his full attention, even as he sat on top of one of the tables pushed up near the walls of the garrison, a wistful expression on his face. "I'm listening," he said finally, sounding almost belligerent, and Porthos sighed.
Aramis had been abstaining from spending his nights in some woman's bedroom for the past few weeks, opting instead to stay in the barracks, in the room he shared with Porthos, and Porthos was beginning to get worried.
For, while it was not unusual for Aramis to abstain from sexual urges when he found himself closing in on his newest conquest, slowly but surely convincing her to go to bed with him, as Porthos well knew, he had neither seen nor heard any proof of a new, serious mistress. And he had gotten rather used to having his own room in the barracks recently.
After Adele's abandonment, going off to the country to live as the Cardinal's pampered mistress, or so they all assumed, considering she had been thinking on this for some time, and Aramis would no longer speak of her, Aramis had mourned her for several days - honestly, that was the longest Porthos had ever seen him mourn a woman's absence - before moving on.
The Countess de Chagny had provided sufficient distractions for a time, amongst other highborn women that Aramis always foolishly involved himself with, despite - or, perhaps, because of - the danger, but even she seemed to have fallen to the wayside recently, and Porthos didn't understand it, for the Countess was always a good distraction when Aramis seemed to need it, as he did now.
If Aramis was pining for a new woman who as of yet refused to take him to bed, he was usually rather forthcoming of the situation, and yet he only brooded and distracted himself with his muskets these days. If this was still about Adele...
Yes, Porthos was very worried.
Because he knew Aramis better than anyone, sometimes even better than Aramis himself seemed to, and, try as he had not to notice it, Porthos was no fool.
He had seen the way Aramis sometimes looked down at that cross hanging around his neck, the one the Queen had given him as thanks for saving her life, as thought it was a woman, rather than a piece of jewelry. Seen the way he would fondle it, turning it over and over in his hands, enough that even Athos and, once, d'Artagnan, had caught and commented on the distraction, Athos sounding a bit more suspicious than d'Artagnan had been.
And he'd heard often enough, when Aramis was despondent enough with the life of a musketeer, his wish to join the priesthood.
But Porthos did not understand what might have caused this sudden change in his friend, and that worried him most of all, for surely, if something so troubling that it caused Aramis to abstain from women and stare down at that cross as though it was now his only hope would have been noticed by his best friend, at the very least.
And, since Aramis was not spending his nights in his most recent mistress' arms, he was spending the majority of them in a tavern with Athos and Porthos, and sometimes d'Artagnan, though his company was considerably less at those late hours, since the Bonacieux man was against "a musketeer returning in the dead of night and waking us from much needed sleep."
It was...strange, to say the least, but not unwelcome, to have Aramis' company in the evenings, brooding though it was.
"What are you doing back so early?" he asked, sliding into the stool across from Aramis, and giving his musket a pointed look. He had a feeling that if Aramis shined it anymore, it would break.
Aramis shrugged. "The Captain needed a message delivered to some Comtessa or another," he said, voice strangely bland, though, that was not so strange, these days, it would seem. "I delivered it. Now I'm back."
Porthos rolled his eyes. "And the Captain?"
Aramis glanced down at his musket, almost lovingly, as if Porthos were purposefully pulling him away from cleaning it. "Off to do the King's business, I'm told. Should be back in an hour or two."
Porthos eyed the other man. "Well then, I don't suppose you're up for a spar until he returns? Swords though, not muskets."
Aramis grinned, though it was slightly more strained than usual, as he stood to his feet and reached for the pommel of his weapon. "You're on."
If there was one place where Aramis was not acting strangely, it was the sparring field, and Porthos soon had him fighting and sweating like old times, glad that he no longer seemed quite so despondent.
It was not until the end of the match that he remembered to tell his friend about the Queen's asking after him specifically.
Aramis' eyes widened. "Did she?" he asked, pretending to sound disinterested in a way that made him sound especially so, and then flipping his sword in his hands, seeming suddenly more cheerful. "Care for another match?"
Still, Porthos was more concerned than usual when, the next morning, Treville gave d'Artagnan and Aramis a mission to the countryside, far from where Porthos might be able to keep an eye on his friend. To a church, of all places.
But at least D'Artagnan would be there to make sure he didn't do anything stupid.
Or so Porthos hoped.
Queen Anne was a woman of simple enough emotions. She was kind to those who had less than she, and showered riches upon her favorites at Court, of which there were very few, lest they were servants.
Her husband had once accused her of enjoying the company of peasants more than the French nobility, had scolded her for it.
He had been right, of course, though Anne had not admitted it, pretending to take his words into account.
She knew that, in their own way, they were kindly given. A warning, rather than the anger they appeared to be.
A shadow crossed the top of her vision.
She looked up from her book, fully expecting to see one of her ladies, full of ill-concealed scorn for their Spanish Queen, only to be surprised by the sight of her husband, standing above her, fidgeting awkwardly as though he had been waiting for her attention.
Her husband was not a man who waited for anything eagerly, and she supposed she ought to give him some credit for doing so.
His entourage stood just out in the hall, and Jacqueline was nowhere to be seen.
"Our Queen will be accompanying us for supper?" and the King sounded almost as nervous as the first time he had taken her into bed.
Anne glanced up from her reading, smiling, though her eyes were wary. "Of course, Your Majesty," she said calmly, setting aside her book and standing. It was a rare thing when her husband asked to dine with her, and she took it as a sign.
Her ladies stood as well, alll curtseying for the King before taking their exit.
Anne stared after them while biting her lip, wishing she had some plausible excuse for refusing a meal with her husband, for she wasn't sure she wanted to be with him just now.
Louis gave her a grateful smile, holding out his arm. She took it, though rather stiffly, and followed him to the dining hall, his entourage walking behind.
She was pleased to see that the Cardinal was not amongst them.
"I hope my lady is finding her reading enjoyable this evening?" Louis asked then, words coming out forced and stiff, and Anne almost smiled. She could remember him being this nervous, in their first few years of marriage.
Naught had changed since then in most ways between them, it seemed. They were still just as awkward around each other as they had ever been.
"Indeed, Your Majesty. Dante is a most invigorating read, even after doing so several times."
The King paused then, glancing at her worriedly. "If my lady is displeased with her books, perhaps I could send for more from the city."
She smiled. "That would be most welcome, Your Majesty."
In truth, she had wished to read Dante. To remind herself of the fates of their immortal souls, when they died. It was not comforting, so much as grounding, to Anne.
It had been some time since the King and Queen shared a meal together. Indeed, they rarely did so unless the Cardinal was spouting worries that their...intimacy had come under question, or papal visitors were at Court.
As far as she knew, no such visitors were at Court. Indeed, France had been oddly quiet of late.
The dining hall, when they arrived, was filled with servants, bustling about and heaping food onto a table more suitable for a feast than two.
She glanced at her husband. "Are we expecting others, Your Majesty?"
He gave her that smile again, the one that most thought full of boyish confidence, but that she, having known him long enough, realized only belied true nerves.
"Do I need an excuse to pamper my wife?" he asked, only partially serious, and she knew then. Knew what he wanted. "We spend so little time together these days, my darling."
She wondered then, if he was planning on taking her to bed, tonight. But she had never seen her Louis so forward about it; he usually planned such things for weeks ahead of time, nervous and constantly looking for some sort of excuse to avoid it.
Not exactly subtle, but never outright demanding she spend time with him.
She wasn't sure if this was a good thing or bad, this...supper.
He was trying, after all, and didn't they have a duty to France to at least do that much?
She did not know when she had forgotten that, pining over their lost children and thinking up excuse after excuse for not going into bed with him again.
It was not that she disliked her husband. Far from it; she found his shyness endearing, for the most part, especially when directed toward her, though his childish tantrums and total reliance upon the Cardinal she could have done without.
But after years of trying for a child, an heir, and meeting only with disappointment, she feared that their relationship could never truly form into anything stronger but shy, innocent phrases and public appearances.
Anne sat across the table from her husband, and took a sip of wine.
She had a feeling she was going to need it.
It was halfway through the meal, neither seeming to have much of an appetite any more, nor, indeed, much to say, when Louis erupted, as if he'd been thinking through the entire meal for something to say, "Well, but that was a strange occurence, in the Court of Miracles."
The Queen lifted a brow. "Indeed, Your Majesty."
"The Cardinal assures me that the...undesirables there will still be dealt with, most harshly, despite his failure to do so already. And that it will be done in a way that does not destroy half of Paris."
"As you say, Your Majesty," Anne muttered, and secretly wondered what else the Cardinal was whispering in her husband's ear. And how much of it pertained to his Queen.
"Anne," Louis said, after a moment, and it did not escape her notice that he so rarely called her Anne, "You seem rather...out of sorts, today."
She blinked. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I have been feeling rather under the weather, today. A headache, you see."
He sighed. "I am sorry to hear that, my dear. Perhaps, after supper, you would prefer to retire to your chambers."
She nodded gracefully. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
There was a heavy silence after this proclamation, and Anne knew that she had said the wrong thing.
"I just wish that...I might be able to spend some time with my wife," he said, in that high voice that always preceeded a temper. "The Cardinal...claims that there are growing concerns about...us. Our ability to..." He gulped. "In any case, I wish...to spend more time with you, if only you will allow me to do so. Perhaps a walk in the gardens?"
The meal passed in more, awkward silence, the tension between the two monarchs thick in the air.
And all the while, Anne damned the Cardinal to a thousand deaths. There were few in the world she felt compelled to turn such vile thoughts toward, but ones toward the Cardinal came easily enough these days.
Anne swallowed hard, taking another sip of her wine as the servants came to take away their plates. She rather hoped her husband did not see the way she downed it.
"Your Majesty," she said carefully, once she was composed, "I believe that it was only worry which overtook me earlier. I went out amongst the people today and met a misfortunate soul, and cannot take my mind off of him."
The King raised a brow. "Now, Anne, we've discussed this before-"
"His daughter was attacked by...men." She did not dare say the Cardinal's men, for she knew she would lose her husband with those words. She was well aware of the hold the Cardinal had over her husband, and of the hold she had. She would not win that one. "She placed in the Bastille for it, as though it were any fault of hers."
Louis sighed. "Anne, I know you are very compassionate for these people, but I don't think that-"
She knew interrupting him was an ordinarily foolish thing to do, and yet the image of a young girl, trapped away in that awful dungeon because she had refused to please the Red Guard (she had seen it happen before, and, until now, been unable to do anything about it,) would not leave her mind. "Your Majesty, I wonder if I might visit the girl, and free her."
"My Queen, I do not think that would be wise. The Bastille is no place for you, my dear."
She shook her head, stubbornly. "Then I humbly ask that you allow the girl to be released."
He thought on that a moment. "Very well, my dear," he said, voice light and careless. "It shall be done, if it pleases you so."
She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, and then stood. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I would find a walk in the gardens most invigorating. There are several new arrangements that I had thought to show you, if we had the time."
Louis gave her a genuine smile. "I would be delighted, my Queen."
Anne had always loved exploring gardens, even when she was a little girl in Spain, playing hide and seek with her siblings or being taught what each plant's properties were by her doting father. Her father had always had a love of plants, and all of their uses, from healing to, incidentally, poison, and had dug in the dirt of his gardens almost as much as she.
When she grew older, and found herself married to a king whom she barely knew, and, it felt like, to a country which disliked her, Anne had found the royal gardens to be her sanctuary.
She would often come to them, and her ladies would lose track of her, there, which Anne found pleasing, for it meant that they could not spy on her for a few moments, and, for that small time, she could truly be alone.
Louis had always professed to find her love of gardening, and of wandering through them, a rather strange hobby, for a queen. After all, there were gardeners who dealt with such things, and she need not concern herself with them.
She was happy that, today, at least, he was attempting to understand why she found them so interesting.
"This is an ophrys apifera," Anne said, plucking the little flower up and holding it out to her husband, who stared at it in something akin to fascination.
"It...looks like a bee," Louis said, reaching out almost hesitantly to touch the petals of the flower.
Anne smiled. "The commoners in Spain call it a bee orchid," she explained, "it attracts male bees to pollinate the flower, thus fertilizing it."
Her husband blushed at these words, but did not take the rather thinly veiled hint, now that she was in the position to give it, for what it was. And then, "Spain?"
Anne swallowed hard. "Yes. It is native only to Spain and the southern regions of the Mediterranean," she said, and knew instantly that she had been foolish, to bring him here, to her sanctuary. That she should not have mentioned it's origins.
For a moment, though she knew her husband to be childish rather than cruel, and, at least to her there was a difference, she feared he might tell her she could no longer have such flowers.
Louis let the flower slip from his fingers and fall to the ground. "Show me something else," he said finally, when it appeared that his temper was under control.
Anne pretended not to notice when he stepped on the flower as they moved forward, crushing it underfoot. Pretended the sight did not affect her as much as it did.
And pretended, that night, that it was not the face of a musketeer that she saw in her dreams, but rather the face of her husband.
It was not a typical day for a hunt, the sky being filled with dark clouds, and Anne would not have come if not for her conversation with the King the night previous. If not for his insistence that he wished to spend more time with her, and her knowing that such would not happen if they did not both make sacrifices to do what the other enjoyed.
For they had little enough in common to take a common interest in anything, other than France, and at least he was making something of an effort.
Some part of her knew that it was hopeless, that any time they spent together would only push them farther apart, yet she knew her husband grew weary of her interests, and that they did not align with his own.
Still, she wished that her husband could enjoy a less...gruesome sport. The needless hunting and murdering of innocent animals, as with human beings, had always revolted her, for Anne could not see the death or depravity of any living creature without feeling some modicum of pity for them, and cringing at the violence, even be they her worst enemy.
"Ah, the thrill of the chase, Captain," Louis called out then, as he left his musket with the man to join Anne back in the tent, where she awaited the news of the hunt. "It is close to divine."
She let out a ladylike sigh and turned back to the table of food that had been provided in the tent, deciding quickly between a truffle and a lemon cake, lest she be called upon to voice her own opinions on hunting.
The Cardinal, who had remained silent in Anne's company while they awaited the return of the king, though this did not bother her overmuch, as neither had much to say to the other, stood abruptly as the King entered, and bowed formally.
Anne managed a small curtesy, a piece of lemon still in her cheek, before she quickly swallowed it down and greeted, "Your Majesty."
Louis sighed contentedly and sank into one of the plush pillows that had been brought out for the hunt. "Ah, Cardinal, you truly cannot understand the beauty of such an endeavour, until you try it for yourself. Hunting is one of God's greatest gifts to man."
The Cardinal smiled thinly. "I am afraid the sport does not agree with my constitution, Your Majesty."
Anne was sure that he hated that it was one of the things that they had in common.
"And you?" Louis turned to his wife, ignoring the Cardinal's words, as he'd heard them a thousand times and still had yet to rescind an invitation for the man to join him on these dreadful hunts. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
He looked so hopeful then that she could not simply turn him down, and lied easily. "Of course, Your Majesty. Tell me, what have you caught?"
Before she had to listen to such horrific tales of Louis' deeds, there was a shot from outside the tent, and she would have sighed in relief had it not sounded so dire.
"Captain!" a musketeer, but not hers.
Louis got to his feet, Anne quickly following, to look out the tent flap, despite the Cardinal's protests that he stay back.
There were riders approaching, two alone followed by a group, not far behind. One was clearly a woman, though her face was hidden beneath a shroud, and the other was a rather unkept man, riding a pace behind her.
"Get the King and Queen to safety!" Treville shouted, and then men were surrounding the tent.
A woman's voice from outside the tent: "I demand to see the King."
Beside her, Louis stiffened, and Anne realized that she recognized the owner of that voice all too well.
The Cardinal gave him a pleading look, but the King ignored it, leaping to his feet and throwing aside the tent flaps in his anger.
The Cardinal and Anne exchanged a long look, for once united in their efforts, as strange as it felt.
"We must deter him from doing anything rash," the Cardinal said then, and Anne nodded. And then both rushed out after him.
The Queen Mother, Marie de Medici, a woman Anne had never thought to see again, knelt in the grass before her son, the Musketeers forming a ring around His Majesty in case she tried something, though she would be fool enough to do so, here.
Of course, she had been foolish enough to return.
Louis stared down at the woman for a few minutes, as if unsure what to do with her. He had banished her from Paris some time ago, and yet...for all that she had wronged him, Anne knew that a part of him still loved the woman who had been his mother, before she became his usurper.
Anne had never loved her, for she had certainly bourne no love for Anne.
"My beloved son," she heard Marie say.
And then came the anger.
"I ordered you never to come back!" Louis cried, and for one terrible moment, Anne thought he might strike his own mother.
And that, of course, made her wonder if he had ever struck a woman.
"Where else should I turn when I am in grave danger?" Marie asked then, eyes wide and pleading.
Anne tried desperately not to roll her own.
"You are banished for life on pain of execution!" Evidently, Louis believed her words even less than Anne. "You tried to steal my throne! And now, I am obliged to cut off your head and place it on a spike for all of Paris to ogle!"
Anne didn't think her husband capable of such a thing, but spoke before he could make up his mind as to whether or not he was. "Come inside, Sire. Leave this to the Cardinal and Captain Treville."
Marie cast her an almost scathing look before turning her attention back to Louis. "Please, I beg of you! On my knees! In the name of the love you once bore me!"
Louis gave her a hard look. "I did love you. And you betrayed me."
The Cardinal stepped forward then. "Your Majesty, the Queen is right. You must withdraw."
"Abandon me now and I'll die!" Marie shouted after him. "Someone is trying to kill me! Please!"
But Louis did not turn around, and Anne followed him quickly, before the woman's pleas could get to her, despite everything Marie de Medici had done.
She had that sort of effect on people, Anne knew.
Louis, back in the safety of the tent, vented his frustrations, and Anne moved away, but listened nonetheless.
"How can she just appear like this? Why does she insist on provoking me?" He paced about the small tent.
"I suggest," the Cardinal began, carefully, "that Your Majesty demonstrates his magnanimity by sparing her life."
Louis glared. "How can I? She was warned. If she ever showed her face in Paris again I would cut off her head!"
The Cardinal sighed, as if lecturing a child.
Actually, this seemed to be his usual tone when speaking with Louis, Anne couldn't help but notice.
"Decapitating one's mother is rarely popular with the people, Sire. It always looks a touch ungrateful."
"The threat she faces must be very real if she's prepared to risk her life by coming here," Anne pointed out, then.
Louis sighed in defeat. "But we will find these assassins, Cardinal? I can't have people running around trying to kill my mother," he said, rather negligebly. "Not unless I tell them to."
The Cardinal dipped his head. "I will see to it, Your Majesty, and that she leaves your presence at once."
Louis smiled. "Thank you, Cardinal. I always know that I can rely on you, in such things."
And, as the Cardinal moved out to banish Marie de Medici from the King's sight once again, and Louis launched into a riveting tale of chasing a fawn, Anne couldn't help but wonder, for the smallest of moments, if Louis was turning his back on the wrong person altogether.
The reception for the former Queen Mother was one of the strangest Anne had ever experienced.
"I've made many mistakes in my life," Marie allowed. "I regret nothing... except our misunderstanding."
"That is a strange word for treason," Louis muttered irritably.
The former Queen glanced up with glassy eyes. "I was only trying to protect you."
"Was it not you he needed protection from?" Anne demanded, before her husband could fall prey, yet again, to this woman's wills.
"I felt guilty... for burdening you before your years. You were so young when your father died. I had a vision... that I could carry your burden, whilst you learned and grew into a great leader. I was trying to be your mother and your father. I failed at both and I paid for it."
Anne waited in silence, wondering how Marie could possibly believe Louis would listen to her words...
"You didn't fail completely."
And then Louis and Marie were embracing, in a gentle, emotional way that Anne knew her husband would never hold her, and she almost wanted to scream at the sight of it.
She didn't, of course, because she had a certain amount of decorum, after all, and, despite everything, could not bring herself to be jealous of Marie de Medici.
"Oh... Anne... promise me something," Marie lifted her head to Anne above Louis' own. "When you become a mother... you will learn from my misjudgements."
"If I ever become one," Anne couldn't help but mutter bitterly, and then look away when she realized that she'd said this aloud, having not meant to do so.
"Have I spoken out of turn?" Marie asked, glancing between the two of them. "You are young. You have time. When it happens, you will love your son all the more."
And Anne could only hope her words were true.
It was the first time she had ever truly wanted to believe something out of Marie's mouth. She smiled, dipping her head before she excused herself from the other woman's presence, not sure how much more of Marie de Medici she could bring herself to stomach, even if it was for her husband's sake.
When she saw her husband again, he was sitting alone in one of the many parlors of the palace, holding one of the bee orchids that Anne had shown him earlier. Anne blinked, stepping cautiously into the room, unable to gauge his temper.
He glanced up, looking at her with something rather like a hopeless expression, before setting the flower aside.
"Your Majesty, I did not wish to distract you with this from the visit of your mother-" Anne began, voice very soft.
"Visit, Anne? I am beginning to think she will never leave," Louis said with a strained smile. "Though I admit that it pleases me greatly, to see her again."
Anne smiled. "Do you remember the girl we spoke about? The one locked away in the Bastille for no crime of her own?"
He glanced up then. "Anne, you cannot possibly expect me to worry about an unknown girl who is no doubt guilty for her crimes, if she was sent to the Bastille, while my mother is..." he choked up then, refusing to look at Anne. "If you are so concerned, do what you will about it."
Anne sucked in a breath. "You are sure, Your Majesty?" she asked carefully, and he shot her an irritated look.
"Yes, well, I don't want anything to do with it. I'm far too busy with my mother around, after all."
Anne grinned. "Thank you, Louis," she breathed with some relief, and he might have been suspicious for a moment, at her relief for a commoner, if he were not so worried about his mother. As it was, he only spun away, yelling out petulantly that he was going to take a nap as he had a headache and he better not be woken up unless God himself had returned to the Earth.
She had been expecting (hoping) that the musketeer who arrived at her summons would be Aramis. She hadn't seen him since the Court of Miracles, except for a scant moment during the hunting trip, though her mind had been preoccupied at the time, and there was something about him that drew her to him, like a moth to the flame.
Besides, with the arrival of Marie de Medici, she felt she needed some sort of distraction.
Anne felt a pang of guilt as she wondered whether this girl in the Bastille was a product of true compassion, or merely a distraction. And then another pang of guilt for even thinking such a thing.
She did not recognize the musketeer who came at her summons this day, not beyond that he was vaguely familiar.
"I need you to go to the Bastille for me," she informed him, and watched as the musketeer stiffened, clearly discomfited. She hurried on, "There is a young girl there who has been wrongly imprisoned, and the King, in his Majesty, has signed her release." She held out a rolled up parchment, and waited for the musketeer to take it.
After a moment, he did so.
Anne sighed. She may be a queen, but she had little enough power on her own. Had she told the musketeer to release her prisoner immediately on her own power, he would have done so, but would likely have gone to his Captain to report it, who would have reported it to the King as quickly as possible.
As it was, the musketeer likely thought she had forged the signature, even if she had no reason to do so.
She knew how the people of France thought of her every action, however innocent.
"At once, Your Majesty," was all that he said, giving her a stiff bow before going off to perform his duties.
Anne sighed as she watched him go, and then the Lady Jeanette was there, giving a most shallow curtsey.
"Your Majesty," she greeted, her eyes flitting toward the door and back.
Oh yes, Anne knew why she was nervous. It had been some time since Marie de Medici ruled France, of course, but she still had her loyal supporters here.
And unless she took charge again, something Anne was genuinely nervous might happen if they were not careful, none of said supporters were truly safe. Especially not with Marie here, in Paris.
"If I catch you anywhere near Marie or one of her underlings, I'll have you dismissed immediately," Anne said calmly, attempting not to look overly concerned, though she had a feeling she was doing very poorly. "Is that understood?"
Jeanette gulped audibly. "Your Majesty, I would never-"
"Yes, well, see that you don't. Marie de Medici doesn't have the Cardinal standing behind her, this time."
Jeanette dipped her head. "Of course, Your Majesty."
She made herself scarce then, for which Anne was grateful; she felt something cold and harsh fluttering in her heart, heard words Marie had spoken to her so long ago, reflected in her mind.
Words the woman had spoken in a queer moment of concern, a moment in which Anne had always thought Marie had cared for her, had genuinely wanted to make her understand.
A musketeer brought the girl to the palace; it was not the same one as before, but she did not recognize this one, either. She had the vague impression that he was a lowly musketeer, not like the ones who usually carried more sensitive missions, and this suspicion was confirmed as he trembled before her.
"The woman you wished brought from the Bastille, Your Majesty," he stuttered out, and Anne gave him a kind smile, hoping to relieve the poor young man.
"Thank you, soldier. You may go and report to Treville, now. I wish to speak to the girl alone, and I doubt she will require a musketeer's protection to find her way home, afterwards."
The musketeer dipped his head, and practically scurried away.
Anne smiled, turning to the young girl whose father had been so concerned for her.
She was not so very young as Anne had been imagining, though she was indeed quite young. And beautiful, Anne suspected, underneath all of the grime that came from imprisonment in the Bastille, and, Anne suspected, the life of a commoner beyond that. She had brunette hair and pretty freckles, and, when she finally relaxed, just a bit, the dazzling smile she sent Anne was full of dimples.
"Do you know who I am?" Anne asked, hoping desperately that the girl had not been too traumatized by her experience to remember her surroundings.
"Yes'm, Your Majesty," and the girl gave her a lopsided curtsey, which Anne stopped her in the midst of, not wanting her to fall over from the lack of energy she seemed to possess.
"What's your name?" she asked the terrified girl, and the brunette looked up in shock, at being addressed by the Queen herself about such a thing.
"I...Jacqueline, Your Majesty," she whispered, and Anne gave her a reassuring smile.
"Hello, Jacqueline. You are safe now," she said, hoping her words sounded more reassuring than she felt. Next came the words that would undoubtedly get back to the Cardinal, and then her husband, but, at the moment, Anne found that she didn't care. "And for the ordeal you have just been through, I would like to give you a gift, although I know that it cannot possibly make up for all of the wrongs you have suffered."
Jacqueline let out a sound rather like a squeal. "I would be...I...Why, Your Majesty?"
Anne lifted a brow, before holding out the bag of coins, feeling oddly like she had the day she had gone to the prison and released many prisoners, giving them some spare coins to help them in their new lives.
Like it wasn't at all enough.
Jacqueline took a deep breath. "I...yes, thank you...Your Majesty."
Anne smiled. The girl left then, escorted it out by one of Anne's ladies, although it could just as easily have been done by a servant, and Anne thought she would never see the girl again.
Marie de Medici had never been a friend to Anne. When she first arrived in France, Marie greeted her with coldness and, sometimes, open hostility, refusing to allow her her rights as queen and forcing her to the sidelines almost immediately in an attempt to keep herself in power.
Anne, who had been close with her own mother until the woman died, and then close with her father, who doted on her constantly, felt very much alone at French court, and her rather cold relationship with Louis did not help, in that regard.
It could even be said that Marie was the reason for Anne and Louis' rocky relationship to begin with. She certainly encouraged the distance between them; an heir from the young King would render her position as regent unreasonable.
It was not until Richelieu stepped in and helped the King stage a coup against his own mother, a coup that Anne had not been part of, considering how little trust the Cardinal placed in her, that Anne finally felt, for the most part, at home in France.
Like it was her country. Like she really was the Queen.
So Anne was uncertain how to feel about Marie's sudden change of heart, in her return. The way she acted pleased to see Anne, as though they were old friends, and attempted to comfort her after learning that there was little chance of an heir, at this point.
It did not bode well with her, at any rate.
"You said that there were...difficulties, in having a child of your own," Marie said presently, and Anne almost flinched.
"I...yes, unfortunately." She did not elaborate. She did not dare.
"There are ways to...induce a child," Marie said, glancing around Anne's chambers - Marie's old ones, she realized - in something similar to distaste, though she quickly schooled her expression when she caught Anne watching. "If you would like my advice."
Anne blushed. She was fairly certain that any advice from Marie would have the opposite effect, but she didn't dare say so. "Certainly," she said instead, giving Jacqueline a soft smile when the woman looked up in surprise.
Marie smirked. "I have many tricks; after all, the House of Bourbon has been known in the past for its...infertile seed."
Anne glanced up in surprise. "You mean that the fault may not rest with me?" she asked, and hated the way her cheeks flamed at the very thought.
Marie just smiled again, enigmatic, and Anne knew then that she was just as dangerous as she had always been.
"You mustn't allow others to catch you thinking such, my dear girl," she said, like a mother to a daughter, spilling secrets, as she reached over and took both Anne's hands in her own. "They would say that the fault always lies with an infertile womb, but I have certainly found otherwise."
She had to confess, she had never thought of that. "Then what did you do to...get around that?" she asked, hating the eagerness to know in her own voice.
Marie smiled. "There are certain herbs that, when applied in tea enough times during the moon cycle, can handle such things. Just as there are herbs for other such purposes."
Anne swallowed hard. "That sort of purpose would be lost on me, I'm afraid," she said softly. After eight years of trying so hard for a child, why would Marie even think that she would wish to...?
"There are many queens who have, in the past, my dear," Marie said, almost gently now, but Anne did not mistake the lilting softness of her voice. "Having multiple heirs can be...detrimental, in many cases. There will always be princes vying for a throne."
And it seemed to Anne that they were no longer thinking of a hypothetical child.
Anne bit her lip. "I don't want to speak on this again," she said softly, though her voice shook. "But I thank you for your words."
And Marie affected a look of serene ageeableness. "Of course, my dear. Tell me, how are you getting on with Lady Angeline of Anjou? She was a right witch while I was here, and I doubt very much that she has changed."
Anne was not fooled by her overly cheerful tone, but decided to humor her anyway.
"She's up to something," Anne said softly, and then hissed as Jeanette reached a snag in her hair, not entirely convinced, despite the woman's muted apologies, that it had not been done on purpose.
"It's all right, Jeanette. I'll survive it."
The woman's lips twitched. Then, "Who's up to something, m'lady?" she asked, though Anne found it doubtful that she could not have already known.
Anne sighed. "The Queen Mother. Her return to Court was rather...sudden."
"She thought someone was trying to kill her, m'lady, and came to His Majesty for shelter," Jeanette corrected her softly, and Anne only frowned at this.
"Yes, so she said," she muttered.
Anne bit her lip, before remembering that this was a test, and that Jacqueline had no reason to be loyal to Marie de Medici, as all of Anne's ladies had once been, and not to the King, as far as whispering secrets. Besides, she was nothing more than a peasant, and there would be few who approached her for that purpose, at any rate. Anne was safe with her. For now.
She thought about the way the woman had prostrated herself before Louis, forgetting her pride in her fear and begging, as though Marie de Medici's one prized possession nowadays was not her pride. She thought of the way Marie had been so helpful, in offering her suggestions...
Anne was very sure that, whatever concoction Marie suggested would merely hinder her ability to give Louis a child all the more.
"I've learned never to believe a word that woman says." She wasn't entirely sure she'd made the right decision, in trusting the girl to keep silent, until she said this.
Jeanette, after a moment's hesitation, as if wondering whether she would be in trouble for learning such sensitive information, quietly went back to combing her hair.
Anne let out a long sigh, not wanting to think about whatever it was Marie was plotting.
"Tell me about your life, before you came here," she said suddenly, and Jeanette blinked at her.
"My lady?"
"Tell me what it was like, to be the Comtess Jeanette, before you were a lady to the Queen," Anne commanded then, and, after a stuttering moment's hesitation, Jeanette opened her mouth.
It was a relief when Marie de Medici left to go back where she came from, wherever that actually was, be it Hell or somewhere still on Earth, her righthand arrested for treason and the world not so complicated as it had been while she was present.
Anne suspected that there was far more to the Queen Mother's departure than simply that her attacker had been apprehended, and, though her husband the King was apt to believe the Cardinal and Treville when they said who had been her attacker, Anne did not miss the pain in Marie's eyes, pain that was not simply from betrayal.
The Queen Mother left with little fanfare and much silence, apparently as eager to leave French Court as she had been to return to it.
"Your Majesty was most kind to extend your hospitality to me and mine while I was under threat," the woman told her son, taking both of Louis' hands in his and kissing each of them.
Louis cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "Yes, well...I'm simply glad that things turned out and we were able to find the traitor."
Marie's eyes took a far away look, and Anne wondered if she had loved the man who was killed. "Yes, as am I, of course."
Louis displayed a rare moment of concern then. "Where will you go?" he asked, voice gentle, and Marie stiffened at the sound of it, cocking her head as if that voice had revealed something terribly important to her.
"I..." Anne wondered if her son's concern had truly startled Marie so much, if she had been blind to the fact that, horrible mother notwithstanding, she was in fact still his mother. "I was thinking of going to the old Valois fortress, in the country."
Beside them, the Cardinal stiffened, clearly seeing Marie's intent as some sort of threat, but Marie only smiled plaintatively. "If that is all right with Your Most Gracious Majesty."
Louis frowned. "I don't know why it should not be. You will be safe there, out of the way of any assassins."
"Yes," Marie murmured softly. "Out of the way."
She nodded once to Anne, not bothering to speak with her, Anne thought, now that she had no need of cultivating the French Queen's sympathy, and Anne was rather relieved. She did not think she would have been able to come up with a suitable farewell, one which did not make it sound as though she were gloating, for, it was clear that, whatever Marie's plotting had been, it had come to nothing. Marie faltered, and then dipped her head to the Cardinal, before curtseying once more before her son the King and then turning on her heel, making her way toward the golden carriage awaiting her at the end of the drive.
Anne watched her go with something like bemusement, and then followed the King as he abruptly turned on his heel, trying valiantly, she thought, not to make his emotions known to everyone within sight.
The Cardinal walked a step or two behind them, looking out of place in his dark robes, beside their light colors, as though he was mourning the moment, rather than just as relieved as Anne was to see Marie de Medici go.
Louis did not stop walking for some time, and Anne wondered if he was going to tour the whole palace before he finally stopped, and drag the rest of them about with him.
Eventually, though, he did stop, just outside rooms that had once been very familiar to Anne.
"Leave us," he said softly, and the Cardinal and their attendants did so immediately.
Louis hesitated then, taking a deep, shuddering breath, before pushing open a door that had been left closed for many years.
Marie de Medici's chambers were just as they had been left for the last few years since her removal from power and the castle; almost bare, with the bed sheets still turned down from when Marie had been dragged from the room, a streak of red on the otherwise periwinkle wall by the door, where she had scratched at it in her attempts to gain her freedom from her guards.
Anne moved forward, forgetting about Louis for a long moment, seeing nothing but this room as it had once been; terrifying and imposing, and utterly real. Marie, sitting on the sofa, looking up with a quiet smirk as Anne entered the room, setting aside her knitting in attempt to appear completely focused on whatever Anne wished to say.
"I wish to see my husband."
"Whatever for, my dear? Are your quarters unsuitable? Is something amiss?"
"He is my husband. We were wed in holy matrimony, and you do not have the right to keep me from him."
Marie had raised a cool eyebrow. "My dear child, I am not keeping him from you. He is your husband, and the King of this country. If he wished to see you, he would see you. However, if you wish to ask me something, you may."
"She's gone," Louis whispered hoarsely, sinking down into the sofa beside Anne, where she had sat without even realizing she had done so. "She's really gone."
Anne blinked at him, lifted a hand to place it over his own, and then paused in midair, unsure.
But then Louis was leaning into her touch, and Anne let her hand fall over his for just a moment.
Porthos decided that Aramis could not possibly be thinking of entering the priesthood, not with the way he held that child and gazed at his mother as though they were everything he had ever desired from life.
And something about that sight saddened Porthos, though he couldn't entirely say why. Perhaps it was the thought that Aramis always wanted what he could not, in his current state of life, have.
Perhaps it was the thought that Aramis might have made a good father.
"What more could you want from me? Why drag me here now?"
Aramis put up a placating hand. "I know you've endured hell. I'm sorry you had to suffer so terrible a blow. I should apologise. I should have told you the truth. But if you hadn't been convincing as a grieving mother they would have seen right through it. This was the only way I could see you and Henry having any kind of life together."
"What life?" Agnes asked bitterly, sounding more tired than anything.
The baby in Aramis' arms gurgled, and Agnes' eyes widened in shock. "Henry?" she whispered, the word hesitant and soft, as if she didn't dare to believe it. "Henry? Oh...Oh, Henry! Henry! Oh..." and then she broke down, sobbing.
Aramis awkwardly stepped forward, as if to comfort her, and then seemed to think better of it, reaching for the golden cross around his neck.
Porthos smiled faintly; it was not a happy smile.
Beside him, Constance looked ready to start crying herself, and D'Artagnan shot her a sympathetic glance. "You didn't want to give him back, did you?"
Constance sniffed. "Was it that obvious?"
Porthos smirked. "It's not every day you get to save the King's life."
Athos grunted at that. "He'll never be King." And then, almost grudgingly, "But he'll be happier than the man who is."
And if Porthos felt some ominous chill, far colder than the light countryside air, pour over him at those words, he struggled not to show it.