Athos had continued to let his horse lag behind until it was easy enough to simply make a left turn away from the Garrison, while the rest of his brothers made a right towards the warmth and security of their home. It wasn't that the oldest Musketeer wanted to spend one more blasted minute outside in this horribly cold weather than necessary, but he had business he needed to conduct and a timetable to meet.

As he rode away, unnoticed by his brothers, he tried to rationalize that he wasn't really hiding his activities. What he was doing was his duty, his responsibility to carry out and it didn't need to be a burden on his friends. They had wrapped themselves too much in his life already, giving him a reason to live again even though he hadn't sought it. Though they weren't his flesh and blood, he had come to the realization he wanted to protect them as fiercely as he did Thomas.

If he had learned one thing in his thirty plus years on earth, it was that being around him was never safe for anyone. What he had to do shouldn't have been dangerous, but the conditions this year had modified that paradigm. This very well might be a fool's errand and if so, he was going to suffer it alone and not risk his brothers' lives. He knew they would argue all for one and one for all, lecture him on his solitary ways, try to worm their way around his wounded soul and gain access to his heart, but he was resolved not to let that happen. Not this time. Not for this task.

Adjusting his scarf higher over his frozen cheeks, he tried to withdraw his head deeper into his woolen cloak like a turtle tucking his head into his shell. It was truly an unpleasant night. He urged his horse to move quicker and cautiously the black stallion increased his pace. Though the farrier had put winter horseshoes on all the Musketeers' horses, which helped with the slippery conditions, Athos found Roger was still sliding on the frozen ground. Realizing that he was being cruel, the swordsman eased off and let Roger set a pace he was comfortable with given the ice on the roads. The horse, even though he sported a shaggy winter coat, wasn't enjoying being away from his warm stable and the animal moved as fast as he could towards their destination even without urging.

Finally, the shop Athos sought came into view and he reined Roger to a halt in front of it. Lanterns still burned in the two front windows, shedding a feeble glow onto the snow. Athos swung down off his horse, happy the merchant was still open. With a kind pat to Roger's muscular, gracefully curved neck and a promise to be quick, Athos entered the shop.

From behind a workbench, a middle-aged man glanced up and examined Athos from over the top of his spectacles. The smile that lit his face, once he recognized his patron, rapidly dissolved with a frown of concern.

"Monsieur. What a wicked night to be outside. Alas, if you came for your order I regret that I must inform you it is not yet complete." Taking off his glasses, he polished them on his apron before placing them atop of his head. "With this weather, it has been a chore to get some of the supplies I need. But I'm making progress, I assure you. See?" He waved towards a shelf. "I'm half way done with your order, Monsieur."

Athos wandered over to the cabinet, picked up one of the objects and ran an admiring hand over it. "Your workmanship is outstanding," he praised the merchant, as he turned the item over in his hand examining it from all angles. "If it is a matter of coinage?" the Musketeer asked, raising his green eyes to query the craftsman.

"No, no, Monsieur," the craftsman hastily replied, appearing almost offended at the suggestion. "You have been more than generous with your payment. It is simply a matter of time.'

Gently replacing the object on the shelf, Athos moved back to the center of the shop. "Will you be able to have them completed within three days?"

"Absolutely. Have no worries, good Sir." The man bobbed his head so vigorously that he had to rescue his glasses from sliding off his head.

"Good," Athos replied with a slight head tilt. "I shall return then." With that, he retreated for the door.

"I hope God sees fit to make the weather fairer for your next journey here. This cold is surely the work of Satan."

Athos' lip quirked at the thought of the frigid weather being a religious-based punishment, but he remained silent. Religion was Aramis' area of expertise and who was Athos to weigh in on this merchant's beliefs. As far as Athos was concerned, he and God had parted ways five years ago with irreconcilable differences.

With a final nod, Athos went back outside and the door was swiftly closed behind him to keep the cold at bay. No waving a fond goodbye from the doorway on a night such as this one. Gathering up his reins, he gracefully mounted Roger, noting that the wind was picking up and a few snowflakes were dancing in the air. 'Great,' he thought as he urged the stallion down the street, 'just what we need. More snow.'

Within the space of five minutes, the sporadic snowflakes had become a steady stream already starting to dust the snow covered ground with a fresh coat of white. Since he had no idea what the next few days would bring with having to prepare for the King's ill-planned soirée, Athos was tempted to run a few more errands tonight. As his brothers became less tolerant of his reclusive behavior, it would be harder to slip from their well-meaning grasp.

However, just at the moment he had decided to seek out another shop, Roger was hit by a mighty gust of wind that nearly caused the beast to stumble to his knees. The horse slid sideways, bouncing off a stone wall. While Athos was grateful he hadn't been pitched to the ground, his leg, which had been crushed between Roger's side and the hard wall, was a bit less pleased.

Both man and beast were shaken up by the near tumble and when the next fierce gust of wind flew down the narrow alley like a runaway wagon, Athos abandoned his idea to go anywhere else this miserable night. They were heading back to the Garrison. The only stop they would make was at a wine merchant who was directly on their path home.

Athos knew by now his brothers were camped out in his room waiting for his return from his unauthorized venture. The rest of the night would have them pestering him to say where he had been and him refusing to enlighten them. From there it would morph into a battle of wills, three against one, but he knew in the end he would prevail. He had much practice at keeping his own council.

Athos had no doubts before the sun rose there would be harsh words, some fists thrown and finally a grudging truce. A good bottle of wine might help them reach that final stage sooner and with less damage. And he did have orders from his Captain to ready a security plan. Contrary to popular belief, Athos did follow orders, just not always in the manner intended.

The Captain's instructions had been to develop a plan and not to overindulge. However, Athos was sure a mild buzz to keep away the chill would result in a much better plan. The strategic soldier already had much of it laid out in his mind. It was just a matter of putting it on paper, something that could easily be achieved with a few glasses of red wine in his gut. The Captain would have his plans, Athos would have his wine, and his brothers would be the only losers in this tale for he had no intentions of telling them anything about tonight.