Title: Blood Will Have Blood
Author: JenF
Disclaimer: I do not own The Three Musketeers, d'Artagnan, their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine. I'm just having fun

Athos turns the parchment round, fingering the rough edges where it's been torn from a larger sheet. He holds it up to the light of the candle at his table before he sighs and drops it on the table in front of him.

"Why have you brought this to me?" he demands of the boy standing nervously beside him.

"Your name was on the letter," the boy stutters.

Athos sighs again and picks up the letter. He scans the writing one more time before turning back to the messenger.

"Tell me," he starts, "can you read?"

The boy visibly bristles and Athos can see he's hit a nerve.

"Of course," he replies. "My father taught me."

"Your father?" Athos presses. "What was his trade?"

"He was a good man."

"But what was his trade?"

The boy falls silent and shuffles awkwardly on the spot. He drops his head and mumbles a few incoherent words.

"So," Athos continues, more gently now, sensing the boy's embarrassment, "your father had no trade." The boy shakes his head. "And could he read?"

"He tried his best." The boy's head shoots up, embarrassment replaced by pride.

Athos nods and picks up the letter. "I'm sure he was a good man, but I believe reading was not a strength of his. This letter is not meant for me."

The boy deflates visibly in front of Athos' eyes and the musketeer takes pity on him.

"Leave it with me," he tells the messenger as he hands him a coin for his trouble. "I will deal with it."

The boy takes the money, uttering words of thanks as he scuttles off through the crowded bar.

Athos looks at the letter again. He can see why an illiterate messenger would have brought it to him. The 'A' at the beginning of the addressee's name coupled with the Fleur de Lis on the seal would have made it a logical assumption. The boy may not have been able to read but he hadn't been stupid either.

Athos is reluctant to read another's correspondence but in the circumstances it is the only way to determine what to do with it. Taking a long swig of his wine, he casts his eyes over the spidery scrawl on the parchment.

Treville's office is in almost total darkness when Athos arrives, just the glow of a single lamp shining through the window. He doesn't bother with the courtesy of knocking, he's known the Captain long enough to know when he can get away with barging in and when he needs to show the respect expected of musketeers of all ranks.

Treville looks up from his desk at the unexpected interruption. If he's surprised by Athos' entrance he doesn't show it. He simply puts down the papers in his hand and reaches for the brandy he keeps on the dresser behind him. He passes a glass to Athos as he waves a hand at a chair, an invitation for Athos to sit.

Athos takes the offered spirit gratefully and sinks down opposite Treville.

"I believe," he begins, "that there is a plot against you."

Treville leans back and studies Athos carefully. "There is always a plot against the Musketeers," he comments dryly.

"This is different. This is against you personally – not the Musketeers," Athos clarifies.

Treville falls into silence, twirling his brandy round his glass. Athos isn't sure but, in what little light there is, he thinks Treville has paled.

"What do you know of this plot?" the Captain asks, eventually.

"Very little," Athos admits. "I was in receipt of a letter this evening that was clearly not meant for my eyes. In it there are times and places, places that you frequent and the times at which you are regularly there."

"I see," Treville responds. "But why do you say this is personal?"

Athos grimaces. He'd known this question would be asked and rather than answer it, he simply slides the parchment over the table to Treville. The Captain looks at him then cautiously takes the letter. Lighting the lamp on his desk, he settles back.

Athos watches him silently, saying nothing when Treville, having clearly reached the end, refills his glass and reads it again. Finally he sits back and takes a third drink.

"Who else knows of this?" he asks.

"Just myself," Athos replies.

Treville nods, seemingly lost in thought. He stands and paces across his study, coming to a rest by the window. His head drops and his shoulders slump. Athos watches curiously. He's a man who has more than his own fair share of melancholy and he recognises it easily in others. He stays still, allowing the Captain his own space.

Just as he's wondering if he should leave, Treville snaps upright – all signs of hesitation and indecision gone so fast Athos wonders if it was ever there at all.

"We need to find the sender of this letter," Treville announces. "And the intended recipient."

"The name on the letter means nothing to me," Athos says, "and there's nothing to indicate the sender other than a musketeer seal."

Treville nods. "Nevertheless," he replies, "they must be found. Quickly."

Athos frowns. Treville is a brave man who, whilst not exactly prone to laughing in the face of danger, does not stand down from a fight easily. Yet Athos can detect a sense of urgency bordering on just concealed panic in the man's voice.

He rises from his seat, the chair scraping across the wooden floor. "I'll make enquiries," he says. "Someone must know something."

The Captain nods but just as Athos reaches the door, Treville holds out an arm to stop him.

"This must be discreet, Athos. As few people as possible can know about this." He looks up at Athos. "And only those you would trust with your life."