I neither want it [brandy] or need it, but I should think it pretty dangerous to interfere with the ineradicable habit of a lifetime.
Winston Churchill
Chapter I-The Challenge
It was a miserably cold day in February, the kind of day that Athos hated with a passion. The morning had started out prettily enough in a swirl of crystalline snowflakes. However, by noon, the sky had turned a slate grey, and the snow had transformed into a bone-chilling freezing rain. The fresh, new snow that had covered the roads just hours ago was now covered in a morass of dirt and mud. Guard duty at the Palace in this kind of weather was hell, and he thanked his lucky stars that he and his three friends had just rotated off a week long assignment there yesterday.
"If I had to hear the King squawk one more time about being bored, I would have hit him." Porthos sat by the fire in Athos' quarters, idly peeling the bark off a piece of kindling. "I mean, honestly-the man has every possible means of entertainment at hand, including a jester, musicians, and a lovely wife whom he ignores to enjoy—yes, another distraction- the delights of countless mistresses-and he's bored. I would like to see what it takes to hold his attention."
"I wouldn't," replied Aramis tersely. Athos threw a warning look at his friend, and shook his head slightly. The pressure of seeing the King's ill treatment of Anne for seven days straight had taken its toll on the marksman.
"What do you say we play a drinking game?" d'Artagnan suggested brightly. "How about "What If"? It was brilliant fun the last time we played."
"Perhaps for you," retorted Aramis, his face dark. "The experience for me was not one I care to repeat." He glared at Porthos, who held up his hands in mock protest. "'Mis, I can't help it if I don't know my own strength."
"We might as well not even start, because you would all lose very badly to me." Athos' lazy voice threaded its way into the conversation as he propped up his boots on a chair, stretching out his tired muscles. "It would be like taking candy from a baby-hardly worth doing when the outcome is already predetermined."
"You're right," agreed Aramis, a sly gleam in his eye. "So I propose a game that will be especially challenging for you, Athos. Are you up for it?"
"That depends," came the dry answer. "Describe the terms."
"The aim will be to see who can refrain from drinking any form of alcohol the longest —and I'm talking even a sip of alcohol, not an endless series of rounds at the Wren."
"How do we make sure no one cheats?" asked d'Artagnan suspiciously.
"We are all men of honour," responded Aramis, placing his hands behind his head as he tilted his chair against the wall. "I have faith that we can rely on each other to be completely honest. When one of us falls off the wagon—yes, Athos, I'm looking at you—" he grinned as Athos glowered back at him, "—he will promptly notify the others that he has forfeited. Deal?"
"I don't like the sound of this," muttered Athos. "Too many rules."
"Too many rules?" d'Artagnan was incredulous. "Athos, the rules can be summed up in a sentence."
"It's just a smokescreen." Porthos was grinning, warming to the idea of a contest to keep things interesting in the doldrums of February. "He's just annoyed because he knows he won't last a day."
Athos' head snapped up. He spoke, his voice quiet and cold. "Is that what you think, Porthos? What you all think? Well, I have news for you. The game is on, and I intend to win. The clock starts now."
He got up and strode out of the room, giving each of them an icy stare as he left.
Aramis barked out a laugh. "I do so love it when Athos tries to be intimidating. It just makes him look grumpier than usual."
D'Artagnan rose from his chair. "I have no need to be intimidating, because I am going to emerge victorious. By the way, we didn't decide what the winner gets."
"Well, since Athos stalked off, he gets no voice in the matter," growled Porthos. "I say the winner gets free drinks from the other three for the following week."
"Then we better make sure Athos does not win," retorted d'Artagnan. "Because there is no way I can afford Athos' bar tab, even when it is split three ways."
A crafty look stole across Aramis' face. "What if we team up to make sure he's the first to drop out, then it's back to our usual-every man for himself?"
"That would be doubly satisfying," admitted Porthos. "We'd avoid having' our pockets cleaned out, and we could rib Athos for weeks about being the first to fall, after him pullin' out the Stare of Intimidation and all."
"What did you have in mind?" inquired d'Artagnan.
"Who better than us to know exactly the alcoholic beverages that are dear to Athos' heart? If we place a small bottle of Armagnac brandy on his doorstep, how likely is it that he can resist? D'Artagnan, you did say you picked up a bottle when you were in Gascony last month, didn't you?"
"Well, yes," muttered d'Artagnan defensively, "But I was saving that for my birthday next month."
Aramis regarded him with mock compassion. "My young friend, let me put this to you in words that you can understand. "Do you want Armagnac on your birthday, or do you want to go into debt with us paying for Athos' drinks for a week?"
"Okay." D'Artagnan ground his teeth in frustration. "But if this doesn't work, I'm not going to be happy. I know the distiller personally, and that is a damn fine bottle of brandy."
"And I know Athos." Aramis crossed his arms, filled with a breezy confidence that was infectious. "Put that bottle in his line of sight, my friend, and he'll be out by sundown. You can thank me now or later—your choice."
Little did Aramis know that Athos was preparing to deploy his own strategy—and he had no intention of losing.
The next chapter should be up in a week, but don't hold me to it. Hope you enjoyed!