Greetings. I am back from the Alaska adventure. In Denver last night and Colorado Springs right now. We have a few days' respite (and the need to do some laundry) and then we hit the road again so updates might be erratic once more.

Thank you to all the readers and those leaving reviews.

It is time for Athos to leave ...

CHAPTER 8

"Those letters will not be necessary, you know," Tréville said, hoping that he sounded more convincing than he felt.

"Just as well," Athos quipped. "I didn't have the time to write more. You can hand them back to me with the pauldron when I ride into the yard."

"I'll hold you to that." Tréville cleared his throat. "Now to business; we need to clarify as much as we can."

And so the men talked, pausing only when Serge brought in a sack of provisions for the road and a tray of food to be eaten before departure. The old man said nothing but paused long enough to lay a gnarled hand on Athos' shoulder and squeeze it gently.

"What did you tell him?" Athos asked once the door had closed, leaving them alone again.

"The bare minimum. Another reason you'd better make sure you come back unscathed; I am convinced that he will make my life hell if you don't."

Athos looked surprised. "Really?"

"Really. There'll be him to begin with and then I can add Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan into the mix, for they will all be after my blood when they realise what you've done. Then finish with the King and the Cardinal, who will want more than my blood if you do not furnish them with the information they need." The Captain sighed. "I will have to leave France, let alone Paris."

They finalised what they could, which turned out to be very little, and then continued talking about inconsequential matters until Athos stifled a yawn.

"You ought to get some rest; it is very late and you have four long days in the saddle ahead of you," Tréville advised.

"I will not sleep; my mind is too active. Besides, it will be harder to slip away if one of the others decides to visit me. It won't be d'Artagnan but if Aramis' lady love has a husband who makes an unexpected return, he may well come to share his woes with me. Failing that, Porthos might decide to tell me of his winnings or losses."

"Then stay here if you need to hide," and Tréville nodded towards his own bed in the corner. "Try and sleep a little. I will wake you before dawn."

"But you will need rest."

Tréville raised a hand to halt the objection. "I will have time enough. Besides, there is some pressing paperwork that I would prefer to deal with; I might feel that I have achieved something when daylight breaks."

He was not about to confess that he had so many misgivings regarding this new assignment that his troubled mind would not allow him any repose. His attention focused on the documents before him and he picked up his quill, his actions indicating that all discussion was at an end. He was aware of Athos moving to sit on the side of the bed where he removed his boots and then there was no sound except for the scratching of the pen nib on the paper.

Despite Athos' declaration that he would not sleep, his soft, rhymical breathing soon announced that he was no longer awake and Tréville allowed himself a slight smile. A soldier's battle experience dictated that he often trained himself to snatch sleep where and when he could, no matter the level of discomfort or the short duration. He knew, from his own observations in the field and from occasional comments made by the other Inseparables, that Athos was a notoriously bad sleeper when he had not imbibed alcohol. His slumber was light so that the slightest noise brought him to immediate wakefulness, instincts heightened and, invariably, a weapon in his hand

There were other times when the soldier would sit, eyes mere slits with exhaustion, but refusing to give in to the pull of sleep for fear of returning night horrors if he had not already endeavoured to suppress them with an excess of drink. If desperate, he did not care whether it was from grape or grain, although his preference was for the former. Tréville frequently wished that he knew more of the young man's past and could therefore understand and perhaps even help subdue the demons that persisted in tormenting him.

And it was because of those very same demons that Tréville had his reservations in allowing Athos to head south alone. He would be adopting an identity and role too close to that which he had deliberately abandoned; he would be re-entering that same world of privilege and there was no denying the risk that someone from his past would recognise him. Another thought struck Tréville that he dared not voice. There had to be periods of happiness in Athos' earlier years, friends amongst the nobility with whom he had grown up. Suppose that person who was able to name Olivier d'Athos de la Fère was a childhood playmate now turned traitor? Whilst Tréville had no doubts as to where Athos' loyalties lay, he was reluctant to expose the younger man to any more turmoil than was absolutely necessary and he wondered what the final effect of this mission might be; he prayed it would not be long-lasting.

He spent time writing his duty log for the day and compiling a report on what he knew about the new assignment and an even longer list of his doubts, concerns and the things he wanted to know.

Eventually, as night was at odds with the dawn, he rose, silently crossed the room and looked down upon the sleeping musketeer. Athos was at his most trusting and most vulnerable, his weapons belt discarded upon the floor by the desk hours earlier and definitely out of reach. Stretched out upon his back, head turned towards the Captain, he was unguarded, and his features totally relaxed, giving him the appearance of being even younger than his years. He was two months shy of his thirtieth birthday.

"Athos," Tréville said softly, not wanting to startle the soldier awake. He was just about to reach out with a tentative hand when the green eyes snapped open and gazed up at him, fully aware.

"I've always wanted to wake up like that," Tréville joked, heading back to his desk to uncover the food Serge had provided to break the fast.

When Athos joined him, they ate together, revisiting some of the points of their earlier planning. When they heard horse's hooves in the yard below, they knew Jacques was bringing Athos' mount, saddled and ready.

The sky was showing the first strands of light as the pair descended the stairs as quietly as they could. Athos paused by the water trough to splash water on his face and Tréville watched, still finding it strange to see the former Comte out of his uniform and wearing a cream linen shirt, richly embroidered in a similar coloured thread around the neck and frilled cuffs. He had polished his boots as best he could, but the well-worn footwear conflicted with the dark, wine-coloured breeches and ornately quilted doublet. He fastened the food sack and a black cloak to the back of his saddle before turning to the Captain.

"I wish you well in keeping the others at bay for as long as possible," he said, extending his hand in farewell.

Tréville snorted and clasped the hand tightly in both of his, as if he could impart some protection through his touch. "You just look after yourself and don't take any foolish risks," he instructed.

Athos withdrew his hand and swung up into the saddle. Gathering the reins in one hand, he touched his hat brim with the other in a brief salute as the corners of his mouth twitched.

"I will see you in fourteen days."

Spurring his horse on, he rode out through the archway and was gone.

Dammit, thought Tréville as he strode towards the two musketeers on guard duty at the entrance. Two more to be sworn into the secrecy surrounding this ever-growing farce!