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So, round two of the battle of wills.

CHAPTER 65

"You have to talk to me because I need to understand what all this is about. I know you hate talking about your past and I'm sorry for pushing you like this," Tréville pressed.

Athos sat perfectly still, his face an expressionless mask as he weighed up just how much he was willing to divulge.

"And if I tell you what you want to know, will you let me go to Versailles?" he said warily.

Tréville gave an exasperated huff. "So now you are prepared to blackmail your commanding officer?"

"Not blackmail," Athos objected. "I would prefer to call it a compromise or a gentleman's agreement."

"Call it what you will," Tréville retorted, "but I am not promising anything until I know the details and I mean all of them. You are not going if I can't trust you not to go after L'Hernaut the moment you see him!"

"What!" Athos looked stunned.

"You heard me. I am not giving you any opportunity to exact revenge after what he did to you." Tréville sat back in the chair, partly relieved that he had said awhat had been troubling him for some time.

Athos was incredulous. "I don't want to kill him!"

"What?" The comment had been so unexpected that now it was Tréville's turn to look perplexed.

"Is that what you think of me?" Athos challenged.

"No, but …."

"I am not seeking revenge. There is enough of his family's blood linked with mine that I do not want his as well. I want to talk to him!"

Tréville stared at him open-mouthed.

"I was as surprised to see him as he was to see me at the meeting. He probably thought that I was dead when I disappeared. That might have angered him, thinking he was denied the retribution he sought so, when he discovered that I was very much alive, he must have seized the opportunity to get rid of me once and for all. How it must have galled him to relinquish that task to others!" Athos said quietly.

"And when he sees you very much alive still at Versailles, do you honestly think he is going to give you the chance to have this discussion you want?" the Captain asked.

Athos shrugged annoyingly. "I have to hope so. I did think that his hostility might have abated a little over time."

"You were definitely wrong about that," Tréville observed, reaching for a jug and sniffing at its contents. He poured two cups of watered wine and handed one to the younger man. "So," he began, more softly this time, "what occasioned this intense hostility?"

Athos held the cup in two hands, a finger running around the rim as he stared at the dark liquid within. He had always been so guarded about his past and the disastrous events of his marriage to Ann and her murder of his brother that caused him to turn his back on his privileged upbringing. After weeks of wretched wandering, wallowing in despair and struggling with great gaps in his memory due to an excess of alcohol, he eventually had arrived in Paris. He was dirty, dishevelled and spoiling for fights, wanting to incite others to run him through with a rapier and thereby putting an end to his miserable existence.

Somehow, though, skill and an instinct for self-preservation always ignited that natural talent when he had a sword in his hand so that, whether he wanted it or not, he survived to live another day, although not always unscathed. It was one such altercation that was witnessed by the Captain of the Musketeers who said his regiment needed men like him with such an innate ability with a weapon. One day, some weeks after their paths first crossed, Tréville confronted him about his upbringing, having made his own discreet inquiries amongst those with a detailed knowledge of the French aristocracy. As much as Athos would have preferred it, the Comte de la Fère, the head of one of the oldest families in the country, could not simply disappear from a large, wealthy estate and expect people not to notice. Everything about him signalled his nobility: the way he moved, spoke and behaved – when he wasn't in his cups - and he never made any attempt to hide his education, manners and ability to defend himself.

Tréville had found out enough that there was no point in denying it, so he grudgingly confessed to his identity, swore the Captain to an unwilling secrecy and revealed very little else. He did not need to. His reluctance to engage with those around him, aversion to anyone else knowing who he was, his determined silence and bouts of drunkenness all cried out to his being a deeply troubled young man with any number of inner demons. Athos often thought of himself as Tréville's lost cause, a challenge, someone who needed rescuing from himself. It took years but now he could look at the older man sitting with him with incalculable admiration, respect and, he had to admit, immense gratitude for Tréville – with more than a little help from Aramis and Porthos – had indeed saved him.

Now, though, Tréville was wanting – no, demanding- to learn about L'Hernault and Athos knew that he would not give up; his threat to remain until he got his answers was far from being an idle one. Athos' silence seemed to drag on but still the Captain sat there and quietly waited, sipping at his watered wine. He owed Tréville some sort of explanation - that much was clear.

Realisation slowly dawned. What he had to impart was not his story, not directly. He was involved merely because he was the father's son and he would be protecting his father's honour in his truthful telling of the tale. There was no reason to doubt his father's integrity when the former comte finally deemed him old enoughat fifteen to understand the reason behind the ongoing feud between the de la Fères and L'Hernaults.

Athos had betrayed his father's memory when he abandoned his duty as Comte but putting a stop to L'Hernault's twisted version of events would go a little way in making amends. He took a shuddering breath and began.