Chapter XXI

Aramis followed d'Artagnan down in the common room, but stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the bottom of the stairs. It seemed that the entire Garrison was there, and nobody was fighting.

"Did you really think we would let you rest peacefully on your last night as a bachelor?" Porthos called from the left side. He was standing on a table, a bottle of wine in each of his hands. All the others cheered or clapped their hands. Aramis smiled at them, welcoming the many back-slapping and the full glass thrust in his hand. All for one indeed, especially when there was alcohol involved.

"I should have known better than to believe what this one was saying," he said, pointing to d'Artagnan when he finally joined his three closest friends. The atmosphere was loud and joyous, it felt as if they had managed to bring a tavern inside the military place.

"What? Aren't I a fantastic comedian?" the youngest complained, feinting to be offended.

"Yes, you are. I was worried for a minute. You could have simply told me the truth though."

"And where would be the fun in that? Here, drink some more".

Porthos refilled all of their glasses then seemed to think for a second. In the end, he took away Aramis's glass to give him the bottle.

"He needs to be conscious tomorrow," Athos warned even though he had already drunk much more than Aramis.

"I will be. When have I not recovered from too much wine?" He drank some straight from the bottle, feeling the alcohol warm his inside. He was very grateful that his friends had thought to make this night special. It was what he needed. He drank some more.

More Musketeers sat down with them, the few who were married being asked to provide some useful advice. Aramis started to listen intently but quickly lost interest when he realized that Athos had disappeared. He looked around the crowded room to eventually spot him near the empty fireplace, nursing his own bottle of wine. Could it be that all this raucous and the impending nuptials reminded him of his own marriage?

As he was about to stand up to join his friend, Athos shook his head, indicating that Aramis should not worry about him and enjoy the night. It was exactly what he did. His first bottle was soon finished and a new one magically appeared by his side, as well as a third one some time after. At this point, the Musketeer could not see clearly and the room spun whenever he moved. Porthos was challenging all of their fellow companions to arm-wrestle. He was winning most of the challenges, yet it was becoming more and more difficult. He was too drunk to concentrate. When he lost to two younger soldiers in a row, he gave up.

"You are getting softer, Porthos. If they had been Red Guards, you would have won more easily."

"He would have cheated," d'Artagnan observed.

"You are lucky I don't want to bruise your lovely face for tomorrow. Or I would show you how soft I am not," Porthos slurred, reaching for some brandy. He tipped the bottle on the table, which was not so dramatic as it was also empty. "I let them win, because I always win whenever I bet. I'll show you. There." He stole two bottles from the hands of those sitting nearby and put one in front of d'Artagnan. "I bet I can down mine in one faster that you will."

"What are we gambling on?"

"Night watches."

"How many?"

"Three?"

"Five."

"Five it is then," Porthos agreed, twirling his moustache, ready to win.

"Wait! What about Aramis?" They seemed to have forgotten their friend who was watching them or at least attempting to discern shapes out of the blur in front of him. The new gamble had attracted a crowd and someone put something in his hand. He did not bother looking at what it was. He started drinking it at once, the two others hurrying to keep along. Putting the bottle back on the table was the last thing Aramis remembered doing that night.

Cold water awoke Aramis. He bolted upright, cursing whoever had just assaulted him in such a way. His head ached from the sudden move and he lay down again. The sun was on his face, it hurt even with his eyes closed. Someone pushed him with their foot to produce some sort of reaction.

"Go away..." He made to turn in his bed, only to realize there was no sheet under him. Rather it was dirt and hay. Someone else cursed next to him, and Aramis once again felt water soak his face and his shirt.

"Wake up! You are getting married in a matter of hours!" Athos hissed.

"Too loud..." Porthos complained. Aramis opened his eyes slowly, the older Musketeer looming above him.

"Will your recover from that much wine and brandy?" There was sarcasm in his voice.

"Stop shouting, please."

"Stand up, Porthos. We need to get him ready or the Captain will have both of our hides."

Aramis turned his head to the side, ignoring the painful throbbing. His friend was also lying down. It took him a few minutes to sit up. He took in their surroundings, looking confused and very much hangover.

"Why are we in the courtyard? How did we end up here?"

"A very good question, indeed. But not one which requires immediate solving. Come on."

Porthos staggered to his feet, water dripping from his clothes. He shook his head, groaning as it hurt. They both grabbed one of Aramis's arms to pull him up. He had to hold on to them in order to stay upright.

"Last night was very entertaining. I don't think I remember all of it but from what I do remember, I rather enjoyed myself. Thank you."

"Our pleasure. Now, we need to give you a bath. You reek."

"Haven't you just given me one?" Athos started to walk faster in response, the two others complaining that it was too painful. Each of the steps they took made them want to vomit. They were almost at the top of the stairs when Aramis did just that. Porthos gagged and Athos rolled his eyes.

"You need to eat as well. You cannot do that again in church."

"Church, right. Today's my wedding." Aramis wiped his mouth.

"He remembers!" More sarcasm. The Musketeer was roughly dragged to his room and sat down on his bed. Porthos went to find some food and when he came back almost an hour later, Aramis was half-naked. There were bruises on his chest he did not remember having the day before.

"Did you do that?" he asked Porthos.

"How could I say? I am so hangover it took me forever to just walk to the kitchen."

"Yes, he did." d'Artagnan had joined them. His state was not as terrible as theirs, but he did not look very fresh or rested either. "Do you remember gambling on who would down their bottle first? We could not say who won because you finished it at the same time. You decided to fight for it."

"A stupid decision," Athos commented. He threw a clean shirt and breeches at Aramis who started a miserable attempt at putting them on.

"It was rather funny to watch, actually. You could barely stand up and you both passed out quite quickly."

"Who won then?"

"I think Aramis did manage to punch your face, but he passed out first."

"It does hurt," Porthos confirmed, feeling his jaw. "I will not hold it against you since I won! What did we gamble on?"

"Enough the lot of you," Athos decided. He was tired of watching Aramis trying to put his arm through the collar of his shirt and went to help him. "Such a child. Do I need to feed you as well?"

"I am not hungry." He lay down as soon as he was properly clothed. There were more curses and two strong arms propped him against the wall so he would stay up. Then, someone slapped him.

"You will eat and if we have to restrain you and force it down your throat, we will," Athos ordered. His friend raised an eyebrow at him and smiled.

"You'll almost make me believe it is your daughter I'm marrying."

"Thanks to the Lord you are not." He put the plate on his lap. Aramis looked at the food, finding the mere thought of eating it repulsive. He knew Athos would go through with his threat though, so he swallowed a piece of cheese.

"Some wine would certainly help." The older Musketeer stared coldly, his arms crossed while the two others were trying to muffle their laughter. If he could joke, Aramis had recovered enough. He would probably still be hangover for the ceremony but he may not be sick. Athos would take it.

Elise had woken up quite rested from her night. She felt excited, but also more nervous than ever. Constance had come to help her get ready for the ceremony, and she had tried many times to make her eat something, without success. The dress looked more beautiful than the previous day. She hoped Aramis would like it.

To help her calm down, Constance was telling her how her own wedding day had been, explaining that there was nothing to truly fear. Elise listened intently as her friend was taking care of her hair. There was a lot of it and it would be refreshing to have none of it in her neck. The day looked like it would be quite hot. It was summer after all.

"My work is unimpressive compared to the one of the Queen's hairdresser, but you still look very pretty."

"It is perfect, Constance. Thank you." She could not help but touch it, slightly moving the flowers they had used as ornaments. They smelled delightful. She then put on her earrings and the one ring she had always seen her mother wear. It would remind Elise of her and she would be closer to her daughter on such a special day.

"Are you certain you do not want any food? It will be long before you sit again to eat."

"I suppose I could try." The answer satisfied Constance who left to find sustenance.

Elise was left alone in front of the mirror for some time, gazing her herself. It had been so long since she had worn such a great garment and had her hair done in such a fashion. She was getting used to wearing it down and not really bothering about it. She did not hear the knock on the door but smiled when she saw that her brother had come to see her.

Turning around, she stood up to face him. Christophe looked a little better these days. The harsh treatment he was receiving at the Garrison seemed to have some effects at last. He had already apologised to her for what had happened in Orléans and he had even looked sad when talking about their parents' deaths. Of course, all of this occurred after he was administered a rather painful beating by d'Artagnan. Elise could not remember what had started it, but whatever it was, it had changed things for her brother.

The men refused to tell her what had happened. Not even Aramis. She should simply be grateful that Christophe was coming around. She was. He still whined and pestered whenever he had to perform duties he hated, but at least he was showing more respect to those who deserved it.

"You look gorgeous."

"Thank you. You could almost pass for a Musketeer." He was not wearing the battered clothes which were usually on his back. Their uncle must have given him some old pieces of a uniform to wear for the ceremony. He could almost have passed for a gentleman.

"Uncle wanted to know if you were ready."

"Almost. Constance went to find some food." Now that she was dressed and her hair was done, her stomach was beginning to wake up. She had the feeling she would faint if she did not eat anything. They could not have that.

"I will let him know."

He left as quickly as he had arrived and Elise waited nervously. She was impatient to leave for the church.

There you have it: a 17th-century bachelor party!