Does it hurt?
A few weeks after the attack, Anne sat in a chair next to his bed and relayed Milady's latest report before they settled in for the night. His heroics had won him the favor of the people, though there were some who believed it to be a sign that he should have remained a musketeer, and some were even toying with the idea that the ghost of Henry IV had inhabited the man who tried to stab Anne.
"Good King Henry was on the receiving end of the stabbing though," he said, taking a lemon from Anne and putting it into the palm of his left hand. Doctor Delorme had advised him to start trying to use his hand more and recommended he try flexing his fingers around lemons, though now that he'd been working his hand for a few nights, Aramis decided to take it a step further and try squeezing some juice out of them, and so he cut a small slit into the skin of the fruit.
"This would have been an act of revenge against the Catholic fanatic who killed him, and the Spaniard he never wanted to marry his son," Anne explained.
He slowly tried to curl his stiff fingers around the lemon more and was pleased to see some of the juice was collecting in the small bowl in his lap, permeating the air with it's fragrance. The knife had gone in between his thumb and forefinger, and it was frustrating him that his trigger finger was so unresponsive. "I see, but the assassins did not succeed. I would interpret that to mean you are meant to be regent then."
"And do you believe in signs?"
"I believe in you."
Anne blushed and the corners of her lips curved up at the statement. "Does your charm ever wane?"
He gave her a lopsided smile. "Not when you're around."
"I'm pleased to hear it. And I'll be glad to have you at my side again at tomorrow's meeting. The council wants to further discuss and possibly close the investigation into Gaston's death since his letters and the promissory note for Grimaud have been found." Aramis frowned. Once news had reached Paris, Anne had sent men out to investigate, though not before Milady was given a chance to slip out and return the treasonous letters to their owner, in addition to planting a promissory note showing that Gaston owed Grimaud money for funding his attempted coup.
He readjusted his grip on the lemon and worried about what the council really thought of it all. From what Anne had told him of the last couple of meetings he had missed, they seemed to believe Grimaud or his men to be behind Gaston's death, but if they, or the people for that matter, suspected Anne to be behind it, he needed to be fit enough to defend her and their son. Clenching his fist, he suddenly felt juice running down his palm and realized too late that he had turned the lemon when he had adjusted his grip and that the slit was no longer facing away from his hand.
He hissed as the liquid reached his sensitive wound. He had asked that his palm only be lightly wrapped to allow for more range of motion, and the thin bandage was quickly saturated. Dropping the lemon, he tore the material off his stinging hand.
Anne jumped out of her chair at his exclamation. "What is it?"
He shook his head as he pressed his hand to the dry bedsheet and exhaled heavily, thankful, at least, that he didn't upturn the bowl of juice onto Anne. "Bandage got wet. I'll need a fresh one."
Taking the bowl and offending lemon away, Anne went and got a clean bandage, and proceeded to rewrap his hand. He had always admired her long, slender fingers, and they were gentle and nimble in their work.
"You're getting quite good at that," he commented, approving of how tight and secure it was.
"You and Constance are good teachers," she replied. He had observed her back at the garrison, intently watching as Constance dressed his wounds while he explained the process. Anne had wanted to help his recovery in any way, and did not shy away from the sight of his injuries, reminding him that she had seen far worse things in her lifetime.
She took what was left of the bandage roll and put it on a small side table along with the scissors she had used. "Do you want another one just to press into, or is that enough for tonight?" she asked, standing next to the bowl of lemons that was also on the table.
He waved his right hand. "All due respect to Doctor Delorme, but those could be put to better use elsewhere. I'd rather they be sent back to the kitchens or given to the refugees. They're too small for my hand anyway."
"But what will you use instead? Delorme said it was important that you exercise your hand. What about oranges? Some of the nobles have orangeries, I can…" she trailed off as he began shaking his head again.
"Please, you don't have to do that, I can work my hand without a piece of fruit."
"But the doctor said it would be better if you were holding something firm but sof-" she stopped herself, pressing her lips together. She then walked over and took off her robe, draping it over the back of the chair she had been sitting on. Instead of going over to her side of the bed though, she pushed back the sheets and gathered the bottom of her chemise into her hands before carefully climbing up onto his lap.
"What's this?" he asked, though he had an idea of where she was going.
"An alternative, as well as an incentive," she answered, sliding her chemise off her shoulders and pulling it down to her waist.
He stroked her thighs with his thumbs, his hands already itching to travel upwards. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"
"You can tell me with your hands, specifically the left one."
"With pleasure."
MMMMMMMMMM
"Our troops have tried to push into Flanders, but in the month that has passed since Rocroi, the Spanish have regrouped and are holding their positions."
"A stalemate," said Magistrate Bellavoix curtly.
"They have been weakened though. We have word that they are abandoning their tercio units and adopting our style of infantry lines." Aramis looked to Anne. "We are in a good position, Majesty."
"There is another matter to be discussed with Your Majesty," began Bellavoix, pulling Aramis' gaze away from Anne to see the magistrate leaning forward and resting his interlocked hands on the table. "A Spanish envoy was stopped outside the city. Don Diego claims to carry letters of condolences from King Philip and Queen Elisabeth. He insists that there is no intention of discussing the war or negotiations, either through his person or the letters."
Aramis looked over at Anne and caught the slight raise of her eyebrows before she relaxed her face into a neutral expression. "And how does the council suggest I respond?" she asked calmly, and with great restraint, Aramis thought, knowing right away that she would want to hear from her brother.
"We believe it would be best that Your Majesty neither receive the envoy nor the letters," Bellavoix answered.
"Even if this visit is simply to express condolences to our recently widowed Queen as other heads of state have?" Aramis asked on Anne's behalf.
"We are at war with Spain and have a Spanish Regent-"
"I am aware," Aramis interjected.
"-and any contact between the two, irregardless of what is actually discussed or not discussed, could be seen as suspect by our allies, not to mention the people," Bellavoix explained. "Don Diego is a powerful and highly regarded diplomat, someone who would be fully prepared and capable of turning a humble visit into negotiations."
Aramis sighed, realizing he was fighting a losing battle. "The Queen of Spain is our late King's sister, a daughter of France. You wouldn't allow her letter to be passed on?" he asked, trying to get Anne something.
"We cannot risk it, Aramis," said Anne, settling the matter. She met his eyes briefly, assuring him it was all right, and then looked down the table to Bellavoix on the opposite end. "Though I would like to send a message expressing my regret. Let there be no doubt or confusion in regards to my refusal, and no offense taken."
Aramis looked down the table as well, taking in the shrugging shoulders and nodding heads along the way.
"I suppose…"
"I will deliver the message," Aramis quickly declared.
MMMMMMMMMM
After assuring Anne and the council that he would be up to the task despite his still-healing injuries, he rode out with d'Artagnan and a couple of cadets to meet the Spanish messenger and relay Anne's carefully crafted response.
Don Diego came up the road a few minutes later, flanked by two men. He looked to be a middle-aged man, his long brown hair greying at the temples. He had a thin line of a goatee and the ends of his mustache came to fine points in contrast to his rounded face.
"Don Diego,' Aramis greeted as the Spaniards brought their horses to a stop.
"You must be the new First Minister, I've heard so much about," Don Diego replied, speaking in French.
"Depends on what you've heard."
Don Diego laughed, his ruddy cheeks making him look even more jovial. "I consider saving the Queen Regent's life a very good thing." He raised his eyebrows. "Which brings me to the reason for my being here. I assure you my intention is only to extend the sincerest of condolences from myself, my King and Queen, and the Spanish people to our former princess upon the death of her husband, the King."
Aramis noted how Don Diego referred to Anne as their former princess. He was sure they all considered Anne being regent a very good thing, an advantage they could use in negotiations. And while it was true that Anne still cared deeply for her family and the country she had been born and raised in, they did not realize though the lengths Anne would go for her son.
"The Queen Regent is unable to receive you and sends her regrets," Aramis firmly informed Don Diego, who nodded in acceptance. "Her Majesty wanted me to tell you though that she would have gladly welcomed you to court, but being a woman with so little knowledge of state affairs and diplomatic negotiations, she simply had to follow the advice of her council. She hopes you will understand the need for her to obey her council's resolution, as well as avoiding any suspicion or confusion as to where her loyalties lie."
Don Diego's face had split into a grin while Aramis delivered Anne's message, and was chuckling softly by the end of it.
Aramis glanced over to see d'Artagnan's confused look before turning his attention back to Don Diego. "Something amuses you?"
Don Diego raised a hand. "Forgive me, Minister, I mean no offense." He paused and smiled warmly. "Only Her Majesty sounds just like her mother."
"You knew her mother?"
"Indeed, indeed. An extremely clever and capable woman, as well as beautiful." His gaze fell. "When she passed, it was as if all of Spain's happiness left with her." He looked Aramis in the eye. "I hope your people realize how lucky they are to have her daughter as their Queen."
"If they don't, I'll see to it that they do."
Aramis soon ended the meeting, relieved that Don Diego had taken the rejection without quarrel. He would have liked to talk to the man more, in fact he very much would have liked to discuss peace, but he was First Minister now, and even though that meant he had more power than when he acted as a go-between for Anne's negotiations before, it also meant that he was under greater scrutiny and had to adhere to Anne and the council's decisions. They had to play the game now, and make sure they had the support of the council, their allies, and the people.
"That went better than I thought it would," said d'Artagnan once Don Diego and his men were out of earshot.
"What, you didn't think me capable of delivering a message?" Aramis lightly countered. He shifted in his saddle and felt his shirt sticking to his side. Pulling his coat away, he looked down and softly groaned as he saw a line of small red dots on his crisp white shirt where his wound was.
"You tore your stitches, didn't you?" D'Artagnan leaned over his saddle to try and get a look. "The Queen did want you to use a carriage."
Aramis threw him a look as he pressed a hand to his side. D'Artagnan knew full well that if given the option, both of them would always prefer the freedom of riding horseback to being in the confines of a carriage.
"Come on, let's get you to the garrison," d'Artagnan prompted. "Her Majesty will have my head if I let you bleed out while we're out here."
After Constance tended to his wound and d'Artagnan gave him one of his shirts to borrow, Aramis returned to the palace and relayed Don Diego's response to Anne and the council. A few hours later he went to see Anne for their small council meeting. She was busy working at her desk when he arrived, something he often walked in on once they had resumed their meetings.
"I'll be with you in a minute." Anne glanced up at him before looking back down at her work. "You changed your shirt again."
Aramis slowly straightened out of his bow. He thought he had felt her eyes lingering on his shirt collar once he came back before the council.
"I might have overdone it a little riding out to meet Don Diego and pulled a few of my stitches," he confessed. "I'm perfectly fine, I just didn't want to alarm anyone with a spot of blood, so I stopped at the garrison to get cleaned up and borrowed a shirt from d'Artagnan." He clasped his hands behind his back. "The boy still has some filling out to do though so I had to change again before I ripped it," he added, and was glad to see Anne stifling a smile at his joke.
Resisting the urge to walk up behind her and give her shoulders a reassuring rub, he instead proceeded to walk over to the large portrait of Anne's mother that hung on the wall next to the one of her father, and looked up at the painting with renewed interest after his conversation with Don Diego. He admittedly knew little about Anne's mother. She had died fairly young, a couple years before Anne left for France, he believed, and Anne's father never remarried. From what he could tell and the few stories Anne had told him of her childhood, she had come from a close, loving family, and being the eldest, Anne probably would have felt the loss of her mother the most keenly.
He heard the scraping of a chair being pushed back and then footsteps as Anne came over and stood next to him.
"Don Diego knew her. He said he could tell from your message how much you're like her." Not just in spirit, but in looks, Aramis thought, taking note of similarities in appearance.
"He did?"
"He called her a clever and capable woman. And beautiful too." He glanced over at Anne. "I proudly confirmed that you were indeed all those things and more."
She gave a small, but pleased smile, and the blush that appeared on her cheeks made her look even more like the portrait. Exhaling, she looked up at her mother. "The things she could have done if she had more time."
"How did she die?" Aramis asked softly.
Anne crossed her arms in front of her, her hands gripping into her sleeves. "My youngest brother, Alfonso, was born on my tenth birthday, and about a week and a half later, she was gone. She was twenty-six."
Aramis dropped his gaze, bowing his head. Childbirth took so many women before their time. He could still remember the icy fear that had spread throughout his mind and body when he learned that Anne had gone into labour with their son. "I'm sorry. It sounds like she was a great woman, well-loved by her people and her family."
"She was," Anne replied. She turned towards him. "My father had a biography written of her for me, so I could learn from her and remember her."
"I'd like to read it, that is if you still have it and don't mind me borrowing it."
Anne gave a shake of her head that she wouldn't. "As long as you don't mind reading in Spanish."
"Not at all. It will remind me of my own mother."
The corners of her mouth lifted and she turned back to face the portrait. "How much we owe our mothers for who and where we are today."
Standing there next to her, Aramis thought of all his mother had done for him, all she had taught him. He wished he had a portrait of her to show Anne. The two of them had been raised in such vastly different circumstances, yet here they were together and with so much in common, and their mothers had played a large part in that.
He heard Anne sigh lightly and then felt her lean into his arm. He threw a quick glance at the open door, and then moved his arm so that he could wrap it around her waist, telling himself that if they were going to stand there in silence for another minute or two, he could easily listen for anyone approaching. Anne apparently thought the same, for she went and rested her head against his shoulder.
They stood there for a couple minutes until Aramis suggested they forgo the rest of their meeting. He wasn't really in the mood now to discuss affairs of state, and Anne had been tired lately.
Anne nodded her head against him before pulling herself away. "I think I'll retire early again tonight. I hope that won't hinder your work." She took his left hand between hers and started gently stroking his fingers, and he knew then what she was truly referring to. She had asked if they could skip their improvised exercises the night before also.
"Not at all. You're not unwell, are you?"
"Just tired." Her eyes flickered over at the doorway. "And I'm a little sore," she whispered, glancing down at her chest.
He cupped her elbow with his free hand, taken aback by her admission. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize how rough I've been." He hoped she hadn't been downplaying any pain or discomfort for his sake.
She shook her head. "You weren't. I'm sure my body's just not used to such attention."
MMMMMMMMMM
"We got a letter from Athos," Constance announced the next day. She and Elodie were visiting with Marie-Cessette and were seated at a table with Anne while Aramis sat on the floor with the baby. "They're doing well in their new home, though poor Sylvie's started having bouts of morning sickness."
"How far along is she again?" Elodie asked.
"About three months?" Constance answered.
"Hopefully it won't last long for her. A certain someone had me sick throughout the day for months," Elodie said, throwing a sidelong glance at her daughter.
"You?" Aramis mouthed at Marie-Cessette and then shook his head in disbelief. "Surely not this little angel," he said aloud.
"The women in my village said sometimes it can last the rest of the pregnancy though," Elodie added.
Aramis looked over to Anne, expecting her to recount her own experience, but she merely sat there with her hands in her lap and said nothing as she gazed at a spot on the floor, her face slightly pinched. She didn't even look like she was listening, her mind seemed to be somewhere else. Perhaps she was thinking of her first pregnancy.
Anne remained quiet and distracted throughout the rest of the day, and when it came time for their small council, she had to ask him more than once to repeat himself as he listed off numbers and plans. She apologized for it, and tried to focus her eyes on him, but he suggested that they end the meeting early again.
She conceded, murmuring that all the stress and activity of the past several weeks seemed to be catching up to her before letting him go.
Later, finishing his notes on another report before bed, he realized it was well past the time when Anne usually came to his chambers.
Figuring she was still in her own bed and that he would let her rest, he decided to clean his pistol, and was just about to apply oil to a cloth when the bookshelf swung open and Anne stepped into the room.
He barely saw her face before she turned and closed the door. She then stayed there, facing the bookshelf, her back to him.
"Ana?"
She turned then, and walked over to his desk without saying a word, without meeting his eyes. "Can I sit?" she asked softly once she was standing next to his chair.
Pushing his chair back, she settled into his lap, still never meeting his eyes. Careful not to press into the nearly-healed wound on his side, she leaned against his shoulder.
He wrapped an arm around her back and rubbed her shoulder, laying his other hand on her knee. "What's the matter?" He looked up into her face but her eyes were focused on her fingers playing with the loose ties of his shirt.
"I think I'm pregnant," she admitted in a whisper.
All thought vanished from his mind and his breath caught in his chest as his heart seemed to have stopped beating, but when Anne's watery eyes finally met his he knew that he hadn't imagined what she just said.
"But you were taking…" he said once he was able to string a few words together.
"Just the once," said Anne, shaking her head. "The attack happened the next day. And at first I was distracted and forgot; the vial was kept in your desk and you weren't in any condition for us to be intimate. I didn't worry about it though since we only slept together that one week and we had been careful. I figured I didn't need to start taking the herb again until you were fully healed." She took a breath. "But I suppose once wasn't enough."
He shook his head. He had forgotten all about the vial hidden in his desk as well. And even when they had started their improvised therapy for his hand, Anne was still adamant he didn't exert himself and pull at his stitches, nor did she want to put any excess pressure on his ribs yet, so they never went as far as making love. "It doesn't matter, no method is foolproof, even when I was withdrawing, there was always a chance," he said, trying to assuage her obvious guilt. "It happened at the brothel more than once-my own mother..."
"I could still just be late," she offered weakly, "But if not, we have to prepare and...and I'll have to say that the child is the King's. If I don't, the timing and those pamphlets could be used to get rid of me, of us all."
Aramis' gaze fell. He knew she was right, but saying it aloud quashed all of the fantasies and dreams of having a child he could call his own that were whizzing around his mind.
She placed a hand on his cheek. "I'm so sorry, my love. I'm so sorry to have to do this to you again."
He stiffly nodded and then looked up into her eyes. "Know that I would be overjoyed about this if our situation was different, if I could publicly acknowledge our relationship. I'm just worried right now."
"Me too." Anne paused, and the hand on his cheek fell to his chest. "I've dreamed of having a large family with you. But it was only ever a dream, not only because of our situation, but because it had been so hard for Louis and I to have a child. I thought having our son had been something short of a miracle, and I came to believe that I would never become pregnant again after that. And certainly not so…well..."
"Easily?" Aramis finished for her as he lifted his left hand and moved it toward her stomach. His fingers stopped short though and he turned his palm up, showing the bright red scar that ran across it.
A shiver went up his spine and he pinched his eyes shut as he remembered how he got that injury.
Placing his hand on her stomach, he let his forehead drop against her shoulder. "Ana, if you're-if I hadn't been there…"
"I know," she said, covering his hand with hers. "I know. But you were, and I thank God for every second you watch over us."
"And I always will," he assured her, bringing her hand to his lips to seal his promise. "And I'll be here to take care of you this time."
A tremulous smile appeared on Anne's face. "I'd like that."
Letting their hands fall to her lap, they both took deep breaths and Aramis could feel the uncertainty in the air starting to abate. Leaning his head against her shoulder again, he felt Anne rest her own head against his.
"How are you feeling? Are you tired?" he asked after a few seconds.
"A bit."
"Then we'll talk more in the morning," he declared, and after wrapping his arm around her waist and hooking her legs over the other, lifted her up as he got to his feet.
"Aramis! You shouldn't," she chided.
"I should."
"Your injuries," she pressed.
"Are fine," he insisted. "Besides, you're as light as a feather."
"Not for long."
"Plenty of time for me to build up my strength and be able to carry you around when you should no longer be on your feet."
"I may hold you to that when my back starts aching," she said, her features finally brightening.
"Whatever you wish, my queen."
Carrying her into the bedroom, he laid her down on the bed and placed a kiss on her temple before telling her he would be right back.
He returned to the office and took a couple scrolls off his desk to place on a far shelf, out of sight from the bedroom. Placing both hands on the ledge, he bowed his head and closed his eyes.
Another child. Another child he could not claim, that he would have to love as a subject and not as a father. The King was dead and still he managed to benefit from his pain.
Aramis took a deep breath. At least he wouldn't have to see the King with his child this time. There was still the danger of people finding out, but the risk was less. There was no scheming Cardinal looking to hold power over them, no Rochefort lusting after Anne, and no husband to deceive. He and Anne were in charge, working together with their friends. He had a reason to be near her, to be near his family. He would have to keep some boundaries in public, but in private, he could be a husband to Anne and...at least for now, a father to this baby.
Once ready, he returned to Anne, who was curled up on her side, her hands pillowing her head. As he climbed into bed, Anne lifted her head to look over her shoulder at him. He gave her a small, reassuring smile and moved to spoon her. She mirrored his smile, and allowed him to snake his arm under her pillow while his other arm wrapped around her waist, his hand coming to rest on her stomach. Her own hand covered his and he held her snug against him.
"I believe," Aramis told her.
"Believe what?"
"In signs," he answered, pressing a kiss into her hair. "I'm meant to be here, with you."
MMMMMMMMMM
"I should have shot you after the first time, Aramis! I cannot believe this has happened again."
"Athos? Athos wake up."
Athos sprang up, turning to Sylvie with alarm as he blinked to adjust his eyes to the faint light of the Moon coming through the windows. "What? What's the matter? Is something wrong?" He looked to see if she was in distress, if something was happening with the baby, but she simply laid there on her side, propped up on an elbow.
"You're the one moaning in your sleep, you tell me."
"I was?"
"Dreaming about Aramis," she replied with a quirk of her eyebrows. "Though it sounded more like a nightmare. Something about how you should have shot him after the first time? First time he did what?"
Athos shook his head. "Just a dream."
"Come on," Sylvie lightly prodded, pulling herself up into a sitting position. "What's this bad thing Aramis did that has you worrying about it in your sleep?"
He sighed. "He slept with a married woman a long time ago, high-born and with a powerful husband. It almost got him killed. Could have gotten us all killed." He rolled onto his side, hoping she would be satisfied with the explanation.
"Athos, did Aramis sleep with the Queen? Is the King his son?"
He should have known better.
Looking over his shoulder, he met her stare, waiting for him to answer. "Why would you think that?"
"I've been wondering since the day the King died; something Aramis said to the Queen and the way he said it. How he took her hand and kissed it. And then that night he came back later from the palace than the rest of you."
"What was it that he said to the Queen?"
"Something about almost losing the Dauphin, but he used "we" and it was almost like a reproach. I thought he was referring to me and Constance, but I've come to realize… his face when I told him what Constance was doing with the Dauphin...the fear that flashed across it, the ferocity with which he went after them." She paused. "I saw you react the same way when Grimaud had me. When you found out about the baby."
Athos closed his eyes. Sylvie was too smart, too observant to not make a connection. And too stubborn to let her theory go unconfirmed. Sitting up next to her, he took her hand in his, and told her the truth.
"Your dream then…" she began once he had finished.
"I was visiting, and when I came across them in the palace gardens, Aramis had a hand on her belly. She was big with child." He could recall the memory the vision had originated from, it was back when the Queen had been pregnant with the Dauphin, but the Dauphin-now King-had also been in the dream; Athos had seen him playing out on the lawn. And the whole thing...it felt like it was happening now.
"Well, I'm sure it's just all in your head," Sylvie assured him. She moved their hands to her own belly. "You've a reason to have babies on your mind."
Athos smiled softly, stroking her small swell with his thumb. Surely she was right. Surely Aramis and the Queen would be taking precautions if they had resumed an intimate relationship. Surely their son was a one in a million chance in the first place considering the Queen's past difficulties in bearing a child. Surely his mind was just combining his past and present worries into one.
But perhaps he would write to Aramis in the morning.
A/N:
-I am NOT a physical therapist, lol
-That big white structure behind the fountain where Annamis kiss at the end of 3x10 is actually an orangery. The other side is all windows.
-Also not a herbalist. I treated it like the modern contraceptive pill, as in the herb had to be taken regularly (in small doses) and once is not going to do anything (unless you take a very large or concentrated dose, which can lead to death).
Historical Background/Inspiration:
-Henry IV was killed by a Catholic fanatic named Françoise Ravaillac who, according to Wikipedia, interpreted Henry's invasion of the Spanish Netherlands as a declaration of war against the Pope and therefor Catholicism. While Henry's carriage was stopped in traffic, Ravaillac stabbed him, along with a duke riding with him, who survived. Henry greatly disliked the Spanish, meanwhile, Marie de Medici believed "that affiliation with the Spanish royal house was the peak of achievement" and a "little more than a year after the death of her husband, who had decided against such alliances, Marie began actively to negotiate marriage with the Spanish infanta [Anne] for Louis and Elisabeth [to Philip], breaking a promise made by Henri to the duke of Savoy." (Quotes from Louis XIII: The Making of a King by Elizabeth Wirth Maverick)
-Upon Louis XIII' death, Anne's brother Philip was advised to "choose some man of skill and discretion to carry a message of condolence to his sister...With this opening the envoy could proceed to bring up the matter of peace" and the man chosen was Don Diego de Saavedra Fajardo. He was met by an envoy from the French court upon his arrival in Bordeaux and "admitted that he did have a mandate from the Spanish king and queen to deliver their personal letters of condolence to Queen Anne and kiss her hand if he should happen to be passing through Paris, not with any purpose of initiating negotiations but purely as an expression of the Spanish court's affection and his own reverence for the queen." The Dutch ambassador objected to the visit, the Swedish ambassador saw no harm in it, and "upon deliberations the council of state decided that in order to keep the confidence of France's allies, the queen should receive neither visits or letters from Spain. By way of softening the blow, Anne sent one of her gentlemen to see Don Diego with assurances of her regrets. For her own part, she said, she would have been glad to welcome her brother's messenger. As matters stood, however, she had no choice but to follow the advice of her council. There could be no doubt that she as well as Mazarin had understood the ulterior motive of the proposed visit, for she added that having been kept away from state affairs for so long, she was only a poor, confused woman with no knowledge or any influence at all on diplomatic negotiations. Moreover, she could not countermand council resolutions by her own will, nor could she afford to give occasion for comment by appearing Spanish in her sympathies." (Quotes from Anne of Austria by Ruth Kleinman. The book goes into far more delightful detail about this event, but then I'd be typing up whole pages.)
-Anne was noted to have "frequently and in public, express her great eagerness for peace" and Mazarin "begged the queen to speak openly of continuing the war against Spain, and to make it plain that in the interests of the king and of justice she would not consent to the restitution of French war gains...Nor would Mazarin hear of a separate peace, however advantageous to France, at the expense of Sweden, the Netherlands, and her other allies: on the contrary, the allies must be reassured. He reported to the queen that their ambassadors in Paris were already saying, 'the queen will be for her son against Spain, but for her brother against all others.'" (Quotes from Anne of Austria by Ruth Kleinman)
-Pretty sure the sentiment "When she passed, it was as if all of Spain's happiness left with her" is from one of the books I read, probably The Empress, the Queen, and the Nun by Magdalena S. Sanchez, but I didn't write it down, and I don't have the book anymore to check