The door slowly creaked open and Diego stepped through. His hair, usually neatly in place, fell across his forehead, giving him a roguish appearance. Diego's broad shoulders slumped forward slightly and his head was bowed. He did not even look at the men as he began ascending the stairs. Diego knew his father would stop him, but he didn't care. He just wanted to make it to his room and sleep. He had never felt so tired in his life. His injuries, though mostly healed, still bothered him and he tired easily. His walk home from the spring took all his energy, and all Diego wanted was some sleep.

"Diego." His father's voice floated up the stairway and Diego stopped. However, he did not turn around but instead waited. One hand clenched the railing for support. Diego's body shook slightly from the tension. Not only was his body pushed to its limits by his ride and walk home, but his mind seemed just as tired, if not more so.

"Diego, please come down here." Alejandro's voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it carried easily to Diego who stood halfway up the stairwell. Diego stood for a moment longer, and the Dons thought he would ignore Alejandro and continue, but Diego merely sighed and headed toward the confrontation he desperately wanted to avoid.

"Please sit Diego, you look about ready to collapse," this came from Don Carlos. Diego soon found himself being ushered to the small divan that sat against the outside wall, just in front of the large window.

No one said anything for a moment. They all returned to their seats and Alejandro refilled their wine glasses. Although he knew Diego rarely drank, Alejandro poured his son a glass. "Diego," Alejandro said, holding the glass of wine before Diego. "I think you need this as much as the rest of us."

Diego stared at the red liquid. His hands shook, and Diego knew the glass would as well. Did he want the men to see how weak he truly was? Something about that disturbed Diego. Since his return from Spain, he had painted himself as a poet, a man of little action. Did he need to be strong? No, not as Diego. But still, the thought of these men, his friends, seeing him in such a state settled heavy on Diego's heart. He heard Alejandro urge him once again to take the glass. Diego willed his hands to stop shaking, and reached for the wine. The liquid sloshed quietly in the glass, and Diego set it on his leg, hoping the extra support would keep the liquid from sloshing out of the glass.

If the Dons had seen Diego's shaking, they did not voice it. Instead they stared at their own wine glasses, waiting for Alejandro to ask the first question. They did not have to wait long. Alejandro's voice seemed to pierce the still air. "Why did you not tell us you knew how to fight? All these years, you pretended to be something you weren't. Why?"

Diego sighed at the hurt in his father's voice. He knew Alejandro felt betrayed by his son's lack of trust. But that wasn't why Diego kept it a secret. It was to protect his father, but Diego knew he could not voice that concern. An answer like that would create more questions then it helped answer. Instead Diego told them something that they would believe, something he would later realize was partly the truth. "I fought probably a dozen or more duels the second year I was in school. They all wanted to test me. See if I was worth the praise of my instructors…" Diego paused for a moment and sipped his wine.

"They soon found out I was. The more I fought, the more they came. My last year at the University, before you called me home Father, it seemed every time I turned around someone was challenging me. I started to refuse them at the end." Diego stopped long enough to see the reaction of the men before him. They stared at him with wide-eyes. To them, they were seeing a different man, someone foreign to them.

"Then came Benicio Fuentes and his brother. A friend of mine, Arturo, he was almost as good as me. Benicio had challenged Arturo to a duel over some lovely lady they had both been courting. Arturo won…" Diego's voice grew tight, the anger once again present on his handsome face. "Benicio could not let the duel end in his defeat. He struck Arturo in the back." Diego swallowed past the lump in his throat. He took another sip of the wine and relished the feel of it on his parched throat.

Don Carlos, like the rest in the room, knew the story was hard to tell, but he gently urged Diego to continue. "Please Diego, finish."

Diego nodded slightly and took a breath to steady his nerves. His hands were still shaking, and the glass shook along with them. The red tinted liquid moved slowly in the glass, and for a moment Diego stared at it. He ran a tired hand through his dark hair, and continued. "Arturo was killed. I…I challenged Benicio. I was angry, and I let that anger rule me. It cost Benicio his life. " Diego let the information sink in, and took another sip of his wine. Like his story, the wine was almost finished. "Ignacio blamed me for Benicio's death. He had every right to. He challenged me to a duel. I couldn't decline even though I wanted to. I knew we would fight one way or another. Ignacio fought well, but I beat him. I gave Ignacio the scar on his cheek. I…I felt he deserved some punishment for what he allowed Benicio to do. He was his second, and he never tried to stop his brother. He laughed…"Diego's voice grew raspy and his eyes seemed to burn with a hatred the Dons thought Diego incapable of.

"He laughed when the blade sunk into Arturo. He laughed. Him and his brother…and it was all I could do not to kill them both. Sometimes I wish I…" Diego stopped before he voiced his final thoughts. He knew if he had killed Ignacio, he would never be able to look his father or anyone else in the eye again. "Instead I humiliated Ignacio. For him, it was worse then death. He swore one day he would see me dead. But then I left, and I had prayed I would never see him again." Diego smiled ruefully at the men before him, "I guess my prayers weren't answered."

The men in the room sat for several minutes without saying a word. They stared at Diego, seeing him in a new light--a very different light. They assumed Diego had never even brandished a sword, let alone took a life with one. They watched as Diego finished his wine and set the cup on the table in front of the divan. Diego leaned against the cushions and closed his eyes. His body shook uncontrollably, both from anger and fatigue. The Dons saw the strain behind Diego's eyes before they had closed, but again no one voiced their concern. They put aside their worries, wanting to hear the rest of the sad tale.

"That is why you never told anyone?" The question came from Alejandro. The close proximity of his voice snapped Diego's eyes open. His hazel eyes were wide as he noticed Alejandro before him sitting on one of the dining chairs that had been pulled close to the divan.

"Sí. Fighting brought nothing but pain and fatigue. I didn't want that here." Diego once again realized that this was true. He didn't want to be a fighter. At least not as Diego. Fighting as Zorro was different. It was as though he was someone else when he donned the mask. It didn't matter how many duels he fought as Zorro, because it was Zorro fighting and not Diego.

"You were good?" Don Armando asked.

"Sí," Diego admitted, his eyes still closed, "Very good."

"Do you have any trophies? May we see them one day?" Don Rafael asked hopefully. Though he would not admit it to anyone, Rafael wanted some proof of Diego's skill. It wasn't that he didn't believe Diego, but the thought of the quiet young Don being a man of action, an expert with the blade, was hard to come to terms with.

Diego opened his eyes, "Father can send Bernardo. He knows where they are."

This seemed to shock the men, "Bernardo knew," Alejandro asked, somewhat hurt by the fact that Bernardo knew more about his son then he did.

"Sí. He was there also. Bernardo knows everything," Diego whispered. "Go get him please. Bring him here," he asked, not caring who fulfilled his request. He knew why Rafael wanted to see his trophies. He needed something tangible to grasp. This whole ordeal seemed surreal to the five men, and they needed something solid to hold on to and help put everything in perspective.

Diego closed his eyes again. His head was now pounding, and he rubbed his temples in a vain effort to releave the stress headache. He brushed his bangs off his forehead and replaced his hands on his lap. He didn't know how long he sat there, but he roused from his stupor when a hand touched his knee.

"Bernardo is here son," Alejandro said. He wished this could wait for another night, but he knew Diego wanted it finished. He wasn't sure if his son could handle another night like this one. He wasn't used to opening up to others. Alejandro knew his son valued his privacy. His life was his alone. Now he was being forced to tell a part of his life he had tried desperately to hide from his friends and family.

Diego slowly opened his eyes. He blinked several times before sitting up straighter. Bernardo noticed the pain and fatigue in his master's face. He frowned. Diego saw this and tried to smile. He succeeded in a slightly lopsided grin that didn't satisfy Bernardo's motherly instincts.

Diego shrugged and waved Bernardo closer. He then made several slashes with his arm, imitating the swing of a sword. He saw Bernardo's eyes widen, and he shook his head. Bernardo for a moment had thought Diego had told them about Zorro. Diego brought his hands together and then separated them and brought them straight down. He then brought them together again. Bernardo understood that Diego wanted him to get a chest. Diego made another sweeping gesture and then formed a circle with his left hand, while continuing the sweeping motion with his right. Bernardo suddenly understood that it had nothing to do with Zorro, but rather Diego's trophies and awards from his time in Spain. He wanted the chest he kept under the bed. Bernardo nodded again and headed to Diego's room.

The men in the sala waited silently untile he returned. A few minutes later, Bernardo appeared carrying a long, wooden chest. He carried it down the steps and stopped in front of Diego. Bernardo reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. He handed it to Diego and quickly left. He knew what was in the chest. He had seen its contents on several occasions. He had even packed them in this very chest when Diego was called back home. Bernardo looked back before he entered the library. Diego had just begun to put the key in the lock when Bernardo slipped through the library door and headed to the cave entrance to water and feed Tornado.

Diego held the key in his unsteady hands and slowly pushed it in the keyhole. The lock turned stiffly but within moments an audible click was heard. Diego lifted the lid to reveal his trophies, medals, and the delicate rapier he had received from the University. Diego heard a chorus of gasps when the lid was opened and the men could see the collection of awards.

A tentative hand reached for the rapier. Diego nodded at his father and watched the awe on his face as Alejandro gently picked up the weapon. "Diego," Alejandro began, his voice full of emotion. "Diego, this…this is the highest honor you can receive at the University. Not many have been awarded this. You…" Alejandro could not form the question he wanted to ask. His son was a master with the blade, and had earned this title in only three years.

Don Fernando looked at Diego with pride. He had never met someone who had earned the sword while at the University in Madrid. Don Fernando spoke for the first time since Diego had arrived, "Diego…Diego, you should be proud of your accomplishments, no matter what pain or trouble they have caused. This is something few men can boast about, yet you have never even told your father or your friends." Fernando stopped and cleared his throat. He felt ashamed of himself and the others who had judged Diego as weak and had branded him a coward. Cowards didn't become sword masters.

Fernando began again, "Diego, I am sorry."

"Sorry?" Diego questioned. What did any of them have to be sorry about? He was the one who has lied to them all these years, has misled them about who he was. Why was Fernando apologizing?

"Sí. We all assumed because you did not fight you were a coward." Fernando looked around him and saw the men around him nod slowly. He could see the embarrassment and shame on their faces, especially Alejandro. Alejandro sat with the sword in his hands and his head bowed, but Fernando saw the clench of his jaw and the moistness on his cheeks.

"Lo siento," was all Alejandro said. He could barely speak past the lump in his throat, and he knew if he tried to say anymore his voice would betray him.

"It is fine Father. I wanted you to think that. You did only what I wanted you to do. You saw me as I presented my self. A poet, a man of science and art. Not a swordsmen, not a master." Diego shook his head as he continued, his voice firm and confident. "If anyone should be sorry it is me. I fooled you all. Lied to you. I shied away from the things I had grown weary of."

Diego smiled slightly, "I suppose you were right. I was a coward. I took the easy way out. I…I didn't want to play with someone's life. Not again. I thought that by hiding it, pretending I knew nothing about swords or fighting, I could live life like I wanted. I am scholar. It is what I have always been."

"No, Diego." Don Carlos insisted. "That is not true. You wanted a different life. So you gave yourself one. That is not cowardice. Fernando was right. We all thought you were a coward. You could have spoken out and changed our minds. But you didn't. That is not the act of a coward, Diego."

TBC