Athos knew the moment the dark clouds started their journey across the sky that he and Anne would not make it to the chateau before the storm hit. The road was narrow, rarely used, and littered with branches and the results of mudslides. Had they come across a shelter, Athos would have stopped, started a fire, and waited the storm out. But as it was, there wasn't a building in sight. He looked toward Anne, who remained strong but chilled as she pressed her palms to her cheeks and blew into her hands. She was strong, determined, and unwilling to waiver. Athos had to give her credit where credit was due. The queen had stood strong in a room full of nobility that despised her, and she was strong as she faced the eyes of men with wrongful intent, and the cold front of a storm.
The mare kept a steady, uneventful pace. Her sure-footedness had aided in their efforts to travel in a timely manner, but Athos' exhaustion and frequent stumbles had slowed them down.
Despite the woolen socks and heavy leather of his boots, his feet were feeling numb. The walking had helped keep his blood flowing, but the chill of the air, exhaustion, and lack of resources had him struggling. His goal had been to arrive at the chateau before dark, but as they progressed and the clouds crept closer toward them, he knew they wouldn't make it.
When the first sprinkles of rain hit, Anne pulled up the collar of Athos' doublet to cover her neck. She looked at him as he walked next to the mare. He wore only his blouse and an old scarf that had intrigued her. She knew he was cold, sore, and exhausted, but determined. She appreciated his efforts as they continued toward their destination.
As strong as Anne wanted to be, or appeared to be, she wasn't. She wanted to cry; she wanted to throw her hands in the air, stomp her feet and shout at the unfairness. She was cold, miserable, tired, hungry, wet, and dirty. Anne was a queen, not a child, but her resolve was nearly gone.
When the rain started to pour, Anne exhaled, felt the burning of her nose, the quivering of her chin, and the tears fell. Her strength collapsed and with it, her pride, her dignity, and her determination. She paused, looked toward Athos, who had stopped the mare and now stood by her shoulder and looked up at Anne. His hair was wet and rain fell along his cheeks, eyes, and into his beard. The coils of his dark hair clung together and rain dripped from the ends. Athos' blouse clung to his lean frame. His hands looked cold as he grabbed the crest of the mare's neck.
"Your Majesty?" Athos asked. "Are you all right?"
Anne hitched her breath and said in a high pitched, unfamiliar voice, "No." She wept, wiped at her eyes in frustration and annoyance.
Athos looked over his shoulder in the direction they were headed. There wasn't a building in sight, not a farmhouse, an old barn, or even a lean-to. "Is there anything I can do?"
"You're doing it," Anne said, and sniffled. She shrugged her shoulder, wiped the tears from her eyes, and listened as the winds forced the branches to whip and bow, and the rain to splatter against puddles that continued to grow. She leaned forward and said, "Are we going to make it?" Anne sniffled and choked back a sob.
Athos nodded and said, "We're nearly there."
"Really?" Anne raised her eyebrows, wiped again at her eyes, and then looked at the sincerity in Athos' eyes.
"Yes, Your Majesty, we're nearly there."
Anne exhaled through narrowly parted lips and said, "That's good."
Athos watched her pull herself together, and as soon as she nodded toward him, he continued to walk. The little mare followed at a leisurely pace. Athos limped and winced as he progressed.
The rain continued harshly for nearly a quarter of a league, but then suddenly the winds slowed to gusts, and the rain turned to mist. Athos wiped his face and ran his fingers through his wet hair. They walked up a short incline, took a slight turn to the left, and then to the right, and he glanced over his shoulder when Anne hissed.
"I see flames," she said. There was hope in her voice, a hint of what was coming. "I see flames," she said again with a long exhale that was followed by a faint chuckle. "I'm sorry, Athos. I sincerely apologize for my outburst."
"No need to apologize, Your Majesty."
"Yes," she said. "There iss. It's undignified to be so emotional —"
"It's natural," Athos said and glanced once more over his shoulder. "Your position and breeding does not excuse your needs." He looked up at the outline of the chateau that came into view. The long horseshoe shaped staircase that led to the second story. The massive windows that overlooked the gardens and the courtyard and the lanterns that flickered behind glass windows. He saw two men standing on the promenade with the glow of the night fires and walkway torches that flickered off their faces. "Or your desires." He watched Aramis step down and onto the gravel walkway and then shout toward Porthos as he sprinted toward them.
Anne inhaled sharply. She felt her stomach flip, her hands shake, and her breaths shorten and she watched Aramis grasp the hilt of his weapon to steady it while the sides of his doublet slapped the back of his calves as ran toward them.
Aramis slowed and said, "Athos?" He looked at Anne, noticed her exhaustion, the relief in her eyes, and her determination to stay strong.
"Get her inside," Athos said and stood off to the side as Aramis swiftly assisted Anne from the back of the mare.
Anne stumbled against Aramis, and then suddenly gasped when he picked her up.
Aramis looked at Athos, who said, "Go!"
Aramis nodded, looked at the queen, and held her closer as he walked briskly to the chateau. His jaw was clenched, and despite her strength of character, he could feel her trembling. The skirts of her gown flowed over his arm and she clung to his right shoulder.
"I'm fine, Aramis," Anne said. "I'm just cold and a little tired." Despite the events, the overhanging fears that could have crippled her, she never feared for her life. Not with Athos guiding her toward safety, or with Aramis as he carried her inside.
"You look exhausted, Your Majesty," Aramis said, he glanced at the paleness of her features, the dark circles that hung beneath her eyes, and he felt the cold chill of her fingers when they brushed against his jaw as she grasped his shoulder. "Where's Doctor Lemay?" He shouted toward Porthos, who walked in long determined strides toward him.
"In the queen's quarters," Porthos said. "How is she?" He turned and walked in stride with them up the chateau steps.
"I'm fine, Porthos," Anne said and watched several ladies-in-waiting standing in the hall outside her rooms.
"Does the king know?" Aramis asked.
"I told d'Artagnan to find the cardinal an' Treville," Porthos said and motioned with this thumb over his shoulder. "He sprinted toward the grand hall like a cat with its tail on fire."
"Go find Athos," Aramis said. "He looked ready to collapse."
Porthos nodded and said, "We're grateful you're back, Your Majesty."
"Not nearly as grateful as I," Anne said with a humble smile.
Porthos bowed and then watched for a moment while Aramis continued down the hall.