Wow! What a surprise seeing all the comments. Thank you so much... again, it's been a pleasure sharing this story with you. Just a couple more days left before this one comes to a close.
Enough of my babbling...
Aramis leaned against the pillar and listened to the rain slap the sides of the building and fall to the ground. With his arms crossed, he looked at the clouds that continued to taunt and torment. It had been a fairly dry season, but the timing of the storm was nearly intolerable. He had listened outside the king's apartment while Treville and the cardinal had shared the news. It had caused his heart to clench, his chest to tighten, and he had walked with a steady, determined stride toward the exit for some air.
The king shared his despair, his anger, and his frustration about the loss of his queen. He could rant and rave and make threats without hindrance. It was his right. Anne was his queen. Aramis had forced himself to remain quiet, lost in solitude as the pain of her loss flowed through his veins with every beat of his heart. He couldn't deny the love he felt for her or the child she carried. He knew it was his. Aramis knew Anne loved him despite not being able to show it. They were both trapped in their own environments: Anne by her duty to the crown, her husband, and France; and Aramis, trapped by his lack of power, position, and breeding.
Aramis suddenly bit the inside of his left cheek to keep himself from gasping when the pain grew nearly too intense to bear. He had no right to mourn her loss in a manner that was customary. Instead, he would need to grieve in silence, hiding his feelings and his pain.
Porthos exhaled as he walked toward the exit and looked across the courtyard. He could see the horseshoe shaped staircase that led to the upper story doors, and guards that stood at the ready. The palace was massive with over 1000 rooms. Parcels of land extended beyond what the eye could see. The gardens had been put to bed for the winter months. The stables were quiet; the horses stalled and fed, and grooms worked to groom the mounts and shine the carriage, harnesses, and saddles. Unaware of what was happening, they continued their duties.
Porthos looked side-eyed at Aramis and said, "Thinkin' about Athos?"
Aramis tightened his jaw and nodded once. Unsure of what to say, he tried to focus his attention on a lost brother, and not the queen.
"I've never met anyone as stubborn as 'e is," Porthos chuckled. "Except maybe you." It wasn't meant to sound dismissive, or callus, but his concern continued to grow, particularly as the king's behavior deteriorated. "Athos wouldn't allow anythin' to 'appen to the queen — 'e'd lay down 'is life first."
"I know he would," Aramis said. He looked over his shoulder at Porthos. "If she's dead —"
Porthos rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. "I know," he said sadly.
"If she's gone, and King Philip learns of it —"
War was immanent, they both knew it, not because the queen was suddenly missing but because it had been a part of their lives for so long and the threats of it had hung heavy in the air for generations. It wasn't just Spain; it was the Holy Roman Empire; it was battles of religious beliefs as Catholics and Protestants fought continuously. All the while civil war seeped into conversations as additional taxes and regulations were implemented on the very people who might defend them. Aramis exhaled. It was a battle just to breathe on the days that the queen walked through the halls of the palace. The battle that raged inside Aramis was just as long, sorrowful, and resentful as any on the battlefield.
"We don't know if she is or isn't." Porthos said. He looked again at Aramis and said, "I'm —" He paused suddenly when Aramis pushed himself off the pillar and squinted as he looked into the distance.
The rain had let up, but the clouds continued to darken the evening sky. The night fires burned and caused shadows to dance and elongate with each flicker of a breeze.
Porthos stepped forward, his shoulders back, his legs spread and grasped the hilt of his sword. He, too, squinted as he looked in the distance. He noticed, but didn't watch, Aramis step downward, his hands on his hips, and he tilted his head slightly to the right.
"There's something out there," Aramis said.
Suddenly, Aramis sprinted forward and shouted over his shoulder. "Find Doctor Lemay!"
Porthos, with his breath caught in his throat, turned suddenly and ran back into the chateau.
The sides of Aramis' doublet slapped the backs of his calves and waved behind him as he ran. His weapon swung at his side and he clutched the handle of his sword to keep it from catching his foot. He had seen the faint outline of a horse, someone walking, and then a rider. At first he thought it might have been a stable hand, but the moment he saw the faint flicker of light reflect off of Anne's hair, he knew differently.
"Athos?" Aramis said as he slowed and looked toward Anne, who forced a desperate smile, but nodded.
"Get her inside," Athos said.