Author's Note: Thought I'd try my hand at a one-shot, so this is my alternative take on The Prodigal Father and it contains spoilers if you haven't seen it yet. Thanks for reading and I'd appreciate any feedback!

Blind

A few stolen moments were all that brought sweetness to otherwise darkening days. She was not so ungracious as to lament fully her circumstances, knowing how those in the city much less fortunate than herself must live. But existing within the protective and yet stifling cage of privilege was not truly living. That was something she had long suspected and now knew, beyond question, to be true.

As a carefully crafted picture of regal propriety by her king and husband's side, she existed dutifully. No more, no less. In that world, she was Queen Anne – the Spanish Infanta, destined to cement by way of her marriage an otherwise rather fragile alliance between Spain and France.

But, oh, how she longed to cast aside that burden!

She bore Louis's almost childlike affections with a patience and indeed fondness that stemmed from her memories of the frightened little boy he had once been, and of whom so much had been demanded much too soon. But, while he expected her to be his constant rock, it seemed that more often than not these days, he had come to seek advice and indeed companionship elsewhere.

Whether he was fascinated by Rochefort's quick mind or captivated by Milady de Winter's ... charms, his queen was frequently left in near-solitude with only her attendants for companionship. Even in a palace full of courtiers, she found the loneliness hard to endure.

But, in precious time spent upon the floor of her chambers, gazing down upon the innocent face of her tiny child, she could feel truly blessed. Her son was not the only gift his father had given her, just the most tangible and a sure reminder that she had, against the odds, once tasted unlikely freedom.

Tracing a gentle finger over the Dauphin's soft cheek, she smiled. He would be just like his father - the bravest of men, kind-hearted, and so very handsome. Her heart swelled with pride and yet still ached at the knowledge that the three of them could never share these moments. They had made a promise.

"Your father will be your most devoted protector, little one," she told the baby in an emotional whisper. "Your most loyal soldier. He would defend you with his last breath, I am sure of it."

Were it not for the tiny child, it all might have been a sweet dream too good to be true. Surely she could not have given herself to another man and then spent the night sleeping peacefully in his arms, unaware that a tiny spark of life had been created by them both? She was the queen. And yet not for a single second could she bring herself to regret her transgression.

In that world, she had simply been Aramis's Ana.

Her Musketeer had been everything that had been denied to her for so long and when he kissed her with such longing that night, she could no more have turned back than she could have turned the very tide. She could almost still taste his mouth on hers and feel his strong hands pulling her closer as her fingers tangled in his thick dark hair. During long nights alone since then, in the darkness, she could still see the look in his warm brown eyes and the heat of it still flushed her cheeks.

Nothing that had transpired between them spoke of mere duty. Aramis had been passionate yet tender; his every kiss, every touch, gentle and yet so sure. He had made her feel wanted. Alive.

Loved.

A sharp knock at the door drew the queen from her reverie, even as it opened having barely waited for her permission. Rochefort stood there for a moment, staring straight at her and yet seeming to see right through her and for a moment she feared proof of her deepest secret must be etched across her face for all to see.

"There is a matter I must discuss with you," he said finally. "In private."

Curious as to the meaning of his strange behaviour, she kept one watchful eye on her son, but stood to face the king's most trusted advisor. "What is it? What is this about?"

"A gift I gave you many years ago when I was your tutor in Spain. A jewelled crucifix."

It was enough to make Anne's heart sink, though she fought to cover her fear, barely conscious of the painfully inadequate excuse she was making. It all felt surreal. Even if Rochefort knew, something in his manner was very, very wrong. He was near to tears himself, his veiled accusations much too personal to be borne of outrage for her treason against the king. And yet, as she ordered him to leave, she wondered what on earth else could be behind his behaviour.

"I can't," he choked out. "Not before I know."

"Know what?" she demanded.

"That you love me, as I love you. I will forgive you any transgression, so long as I know that. If we love each other, we will forgive."

With waves of shock and horror crashing over her, she stared in disbelief at the man who had once been her trusted mentor. "You've gone mad," she managed, wide-eyed and pale. "Leave me now!"

But turning her back on him proved to be a mistake when he closed in on her, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly as she felt his hot breath on her neck.

"I have dreamed of this moment for so long," he whispered, the lust weighting his words not lost on the trembling queen. "To be alone with you at last, to consummate our love ..."

All too aware of the promises that had been made, Aramis still found it hard to fight the draw of his son. Especially after seeing such innocent young girls torn from their families and almost lost to a life of depraved slavery. As a Musketeer, he would do everything in his power to protect the Dauphin. But, more than anything, he longed to simply hold his baby in his arms again – as his father, not his soldier.

Surely it could do no harm just to try to catch a glimpse ...

The crash from within the queen's private chambers caught his attention first and he glanced around sharply to see if anyone would go to investigate, only to find no one in sight. The small fearful cry that followed might have otherwise gone unheard, but it was more than enough to send him dashing to the door, throwing both caution and propriety to the wind as he threw it open and barged inside.

The sight that greeted him almost stopped his heart in his chest, but shocked to the core though he was, he still crossed the room in three strides to grab the first minister of France. "Get your filthy hands off her!" he roared furiously, bodily hauling Rochefort from on top of the struggling, terrified queen and throwing him into the nearest wall.

"I hope she was worth it, Musketeer," came the sneer. "You will hang for your treason, you know."

"You first," Aramis vowed, putting himself firmly in front of the sobbing young woman who had gathered their now crying baby into her arms and was rocking him on the floor by the foot of her bed. He desperately needed to know that they were both unharmed, but didn't dare to take his eyes off Rochefort as he stumbled to his feet again - for gone was the cool, arrogant statesman, only to be replaced by a wild, unpredictable madman.

Sure enough, a concealed dagger slid from a boot and was levelled at him in an instant. "The likes of you will not break the bond of our love," Rochefort said tightly.

It probably wasn't the smartest move he had ever made, but Aramis laughed. Even in such dire circumstances, he couldn't help himself. "You really have gone mad," he said in wonder.

"Why don't you step closer and I will show you madness?"

"I can see it quite well from here, thank you. This is your last chance to get out of here. If you are lucky, as snakes like you tend to be, perhaps the king will see that you end your days in the bastille – rather than hanging from a noose."

"And what of you? You think the king will overlook your torrid affair? At least I am in love with Anne, not indulging in your usual self-serving womanising," Rochefort all but spat, punctuating his words with vicious slashes of his blade in the Musketeer's direction.

But while the knife may have missed its mark, the statement hit a nerve and Aramis glared angrily into those ice-cold, taunting blue eyes. "Ah, but of course, that will be why she cowers in tears on the floor," he said, his fists clenching even as he ducked the blade again. "Her dress torn by the animal who would have raped her in front of her son!"

Shock registered on Rochefort's face at what seemed obvious to all but him, but in the next instance, he had launched himself at Aramis with a cry not unlike that of a wounded bull. The pair crashed to the floor, as Anne screamed in fear and clutched the Dauphin closer as she shied out of the way. At least the knife was soon lost in the fray, but fists flew and brutal blows were landed by both men - until somehow vice-like hands had closed around Aramis's throat and he was choking.

"No, please, no," Anne begged. "Let him go and I will do anything you ask. I beg you. Do not kill him!"

Even gasping for air, Aramis tried to shake his head, fearful of what such a statement would mean for his queen. But struggle as he might, Rochefort's grip did not give an inch and the world was starting to take on a hazy quality at its edges. His head falling to the side, the last thing he saw before the blackness began to take him was his son being laid carefully on the floor by his beautiful mother.

"Ana ..." he managed faintly.

But the final words he caught from her were not addressed to him.

"Rochefort," the queen said, her voice low enough to intrigue her target. "Look at me. I am yours."

Even as Aramis prepared to sink into unconsciousness, Rochefort turned with a smile ready to greet her change of heart – and with his face vulnerable to the sharp hairpin plucked swiftly from amid the queen's flaxen curls and raked into his left eyeball. His anguished cry of pain caused her stomach to roll and tears streamed down her cheeks, but she thought only of Aramis as she knelt by his side and tried to tend to him.

Between Rochefort howling on the floor and the baby crying, she thought surely someone must come, but instead it was the first minister who made a move, scrambling to his feet with one hand clamped over his bloody eye. Terrified, Anne clung to her Musketeer as he managed to sit up and wrap her in his arms.

"The king will hear of your treachery!" Rochefort vowed, his voice rising to a near shriek as he stumbled to the door and threw it open. "Guards! Come quick, there is treason in our midst!"

Left alone, weakened and in fear for all he held dear, Aramis could only reach for his baby boy and place him gently into his mother's arms so he could – at last – hold them both. God knew, as he offered up a fervent prayer, this was not how he had dreamt of it.

And, for once, he was blind as to a way out.