Capacity

By: Musketeer Adventure

Summary: Milady's thoughts during season one. I wondered how she became who she is, and thought this could explain it.

She had felt many things for many people in her life, but had felt only love for one.

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As she stood watching the scene below her, Anne held her breath. She didn't understand this apprehension.

She had felt many things for many people in her life, but had felt only love for one. And he was there below her, begging for his executioners to take his life.

She had thought her capacity for love had never been there. Distrust had been her protection, the start of a gage for any relationship. Interaction, for her, usually ended in manipulation and violent disengagement.

Her mother, Mila, had not loved her. She had chosen only to tolerate. Mila's gage had begun with how not to starve; then not to freeze; then not to die. She had aged before her time, and at this moment she did not know if Mila was dead or alive.

When she knew her mother, their life had been hard; made doubly so by the abject poverty they dwelled in.

Her father was a vague memory, his looks, lost to her. But she did remember that he was a quiet, sad, introverted man, who had killed himself. Poverty and starvation had worn him down.

Her mother woke every morning, in their hovel, cursing his name and not letting her forget that he had left them here alone, to starve and fend for themselves. If she had no food, it was his fault. If her shoes had holes, it was his fault. If there was no coal – the litany went on and on.

So, it was up to them to survive.

For as long as she could remember, she had been a beggar and a thief. She had learned at an early age to use her eyes to deceive; to feign weakness in order to gain charity.

It had been an early skill that she would use all her life to survive. She learned that the lift of an eye brow, the tilt of her head at a certain angle, could suggest whatever she wanted to convey. She had perfected the pout at five years old. Just the right amount of protruding of the lower lip could gain that much needed coin.

Mila saw the signs of her intellect and understanding early, and cultivated it to their advantage. All of it done in the name of survival. The instinct was strong in Mila, and she would pass it on to her daughter. Girls only survived if they were smarter than men. So she taught her girl all she knew – the letters of her name, her gift for numbers and the art of deception.

By ten years old, Anne knew the streets of her township like the back of her hand. She understood the people, how they thought, and what she could get away with while stealing from them.

She could run fast, pick a pocket and steal fruit from their stands without being noticed, even as they looked straight at her. Illusion was her gift. Show them what they wanted to see – a beautiful child with an angelic smile. They pinched her cheeks as the apple went into her pocket.

At twelve years old, her mother took a good look at her dark hair, large eyes and developing body and taught her the understanding of her cycle and the look of disease. Avoiding pregnancy and disease were one and the same.

Mila then sent her among men to pleasure, and bring back coin. All in the name of survival her mother would remind her.

So, she roamed the streets under Mila's guidance and at thirteen was given over to an innkeeper to sell her wares for her mother's percentage. She was popular, knew she had something – of what she wasn't so certain of, but seduced the innkeeper for more profit, to pocket for herself.

Here in the inn she learned to watch people. She would sit outside the door during the day, and see ladies walk by, notice their dress, their sway and manner of speaking. She would parrot this and bring it to her trade. They ate it up. She would use it, and steal from them while they slept.

She also learned to hide behind a name. She could be anybody, talk; walk; think, and loose herself in a name, but she would always keep Anne.

She didn't realize the power she held until she was fifteen and led a nobleman around by the nose. She got out of it money, a new dress and proper shoes. When he caught on to her whiles, he beat her, took his gifts, and left her in the mud. She learned to be more discerning, and to close the con before they knew what happened.

At sixteen years old, the nuns of The Order of St. Benedict, swept the streets of her township and picked her up off the streets along with other girls, with the mission of saving them.

The convent became a respite and she never saw Mila again.

She settled in there, and found that she could be just what the sisters wanted her to be. They fed her, clothed her, and gave her a place to lay her head. She learned to pray without passion, to sing, to worship without believing, and to keep her true nature to herself.

She did not have the capacity to love God. He did not love her. But the sisters, through Him, taught her to read beyond her name, memorize the scripture, and to work. She learned to study mankind while being invisible. The sisters afforded her the education girls were denied.

At eight-teen, she had worked her way to novice, and had to get out before she actually took vows. So she set her sights on a young priest, who did not know himself, and pretended at holiness. It was easy, and he was willing. Together they planned, and with her skill at thievery stole the coffers and ran.

What she did not foresee was the long arm of the church. She and her priest did not get far. They were captured and arrested, the church condemning them to the harshest of punishments.

So at eight-teen, she was branded a thief, along with her lover, and thrown into prison. Their escape from bondage was fortuitous. Being who she was, she seduced her jailer, who risked all to allow her and her lover to go free. He was hanged for his efforts.

So together, she and her priest begged, and stole their way across the countryside, until they made their way to Pinon.

Here her lover found work as a curator, and she with the gift of reinvention, pretended to be his sister. She lost her self again in a name, Anne de Brevil and became her. Sister by day, lover by night; and pinching the tithes and offerings as the plate emptied into the basket each Sunday.

It was a way to live. Mila's lesson etched in her very existence. Survive at all cost.

Looking down on Athos now, she thought back on when she first saw the Comte de le Fere. She had never thought of a man as beautiful. But there he was.

He was tall, moved with grace, and was careful. She first thought him arrogant, because he did not speak.

Pinon was his. When he walked among them, everyone stopped to bow their heads in deference. He always nodded back, but never spoke. When she looked on him, something sparked within her, and she set her sights on him right away. Everyone loved him, respected him, and he was the future, her future.

Survive, she had whispered to herself. Here was survival.

So she watched, and was there as he rode his horse, walked to the market, sat in church, attended community functions. As the curator's "sister" she had access to gossip, knew his intended, the older Comte's illness and the brother's whispered about immoral ways.

She could tell he noticed her, and what she assumed was arrogance was instead shyness. She was unfamiliar with how to proceed.

She realized her repartee would not work on him. He was reserved, and sensitive – but sure of himself and his place.

She had all but given up on her plan, when he approached her and the "curator" after church one Sunday and asked permission to walk her home. She was stunned, and her lover equally so. That's how it began.

First it was walks home after church; then picnics or other church functions, and then it progressed to riding, and filling out her card at estate dances.

He asked nothing of her, but her company.

He spoke to her, talked with her, listened to her, read with her and asked her opinions; but never once asked of her background.

When he declared his love, she knew she would survive – not just in the short term, but for years to come.

But if he knew her, really knew her, he would not love her.

To protect herself, she hid her brand expertly; spun a tale of her parentage; and rid herself of her "brother"; whose riding accident came as a shock to the community and aroused sympathy on her behalf.

His family, though wary of her, felt sorry for her.

And in the end, ignoring their protests, he married her and loved her; and she knew, gave her all he had to give. She knew how to give him what he wanted. She was a master after all.

And she knew how to stroke him, how to make him happy. He was wounded. His father did not love him, and his brother – who he adored, he did not know.

But she knew Thomas- recognized him for who he was. He was a man cut from her cloth. They could not love. The capacity was not there.

But she felt something for her husband. He made her laugh. He valued what she thought. He tried to make her as happy as she could possibly be. Love making was an adventure, each and every time. He stole her breath and knew how to make her skin tremble. He knew how to pleasure her in every way; and she reciprocated.

All was well, her survival intact, and then the elder Comte died.

Thomas openly revealed his true self to her and to protect her future, she killed him. She wasn't sorry.

But the look on Athos' face had somehow hurt her.

He had said that he loved her, but had chosen his duty, and a dead brother he did not know, over her. But he didn't know her either.

Once again, self-preservation was her friend.

Above all, she knew how to survive and had escaped his death sentence with another scar to brand her not only as a thief, but as a murderer.

After Pinon, she reinvented herself once again. She had done what she did best, survived. She seduced and remarried and killed again to live another day. She had borne a son, who she tolerated as Mila had tolerated her. She only knew he resided with his father's people and lived.

She had spent the last five years perfecting her new skill as an assassin and spy for the Cardinal.

In that time she realized that what she had felt for Athos must have been love; or something close to it.

That she had the capacity for it and did not know it, ate at her, and warped her more in some way.

The life she led now, led her further and further away from that girl in Pinon; and each year she grew to hate Athos for not really loving her at all, and for fooling not only himself, but her as well. Perhaps she could have been happy?

As she looked down on the firing squad, aiming their muskets at the ready, she felt a sense of anguish as Athos bowed his head in surrender to certain death. But then the Musketeers rushed in and saved his life at the last moment thwarting her plans. And somehow, to her surprise, she felt relief. She had thought his death would bring her some measure of satisfaction and peace.

It seemed his life, instead, gave her purpose. Perhaps revenge was what she really wanted?

She stepped back from the window as Athos joined his brothers, and began to plot her next move.

The end.

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Thank you for reading. Please review and let me know what you think. To those who have read the novels, please know this is just my interpretation. What little information I have gathered, I just let my imagination run with it. Milady is a complex character and I wondered how she could care for Athos, and hate him at the same time. Your thoughts are appreciated. Have added a second chapter due to the outstanding season two finale.