In wine there is wisdom, in beer there is Freedom, in water there is bacteria.
Benjamin Franklin
Chapter II-The Game Begins
Athos was a creature of habit. No matter what time he had gone to bed the night before a duty day, he inevitably reported for the 0700 muster at 0659-not a minute before, or a minute after. His brothers marvelled at how he could precisely time his arrival to within a minute before Captain Treville appeared with orders for the day.
"It's a mind game, that's what it is," growled Porthos. "And it is completely annoyin'. Does he have some kind of clock inside his brain? How does he do it?"
"Who cares?" replied Aramis breezily. "It just makes him all the more easy to set up. The bottle is right outside his door, correct?" He looked at d'Artagnan inquiringly.
"Just shined it up and placed it there a moment ago," murmured d'Artagnan, his face bright with anticipation. "He should be coming out momentarily. 3-2-1—"
Athos' door opened, and he glanced down to see the distinctively shaped brandy bottle. Picking it up, he ran his hand across the label reverently.
"Come to papa," Aramis breathed, a grin spreading across his face. "The image of that bottle will be busy seducing his mind all day long, and he will succumb to its siren song long before midnight. Our work here is done, my friends."
"I wouldn't be so confident," Porthos said warily. "Athos is a clever man, and he's not afraid to fight dirty."
D'Artagnan gave him a reproachful look. "Athos? Porthos, come on. You should know him better than that. He would never resort to underhanded tricks just to win a silly bet."
"Don't be so sure," muttered Porthos, as Athos tucked the bottle inside his room and walked down the steps at his usual pace, managing to slide into his accustomed place in formation just an instant before Treville stepped out on the balcony. He gave Porthos a nod and a slight smirk, knowing how his punctuality wound the big man up.
Treville went through the orders for the day, and assignments were quickly meted out. Aramis and d'Artagnan were to provide security at the meeting of the King's council, whilst Athos and Porthos had drawn foot patrol at the Palace.
"Not again," moaned Porthos, dreading the idea of long hours spent out in the freezing cold.
"We can turn this to our advantage," murmured Aramis to d'Artagnan. "Watch and learn, d'Artagnan."
"Captain," called Aramis, looking up at Treville, his expression the model of innocence. "I feel compelled to point out that Athos and Porthos had foot patrol last week, and the weather is once again miserable."
"Your point?" inquired the Captain, leaning over the railing and fixing his steely blue eyes on Aramis.
"As the unofficial medic here, I am concerned for their health. Too many hours out in the cold might make them prone to a chest infection."
Treville eyed Aramis suspiciously. "I thought fresh air was deemed the best way to fight illness."
"That is only true if the air is a dry cold," replied an aghast Aramis, a shocked look on his face. "Surely you are aware of the dangers of moisture when it is linked to freezing temperatures!"
"I am indeed," answered Treville dryly. "I believe it is called ice by those who are learned in such things."
Porthos winked at Aramis, then barked out a hacking cough, gasping theatrically as he followed it with a rather pathetic attempt to clear his throat.
"You see?" Aramis put his hand on his friend's shoulder, brotherly concern evident on his face. "Captain, please allow d'Artagnan and myself to take their place."
"I did not agree to that!" hissed d'Artagnan.
"Do you want to be warm, or do you want to keep Athos from winning? Your choice." Aramis muttered under his breath.
D'Artagnan shot him a look of utter annoyance, then nodded slightly, keeping his voice low. "Okay. But don't complain to me if you get frostbite."
"Very well," sighed the Captain. "Athos, you and Porthos will go to the Council meeting. Aramis and d'Artagnan, you will assume foot patrol duties. Is everyone happy now?" Not waiting for an answer, he stalked back into his office, closing the door behind him with a bang.
As the group dispersed, d'Artagnan drew Aramis off to the side, his expression furious. "Do you mind explaining to me what that was all about?"
"It is about getting Athos riled up," replied Aramis calmly. "Who is sure to be present at the Council meeting? Rochefort. Who does Athos hate with a passion? Rochefort. What does Athos do every time he has a run in with Rochefort? Drink like a fish. I have merely provided additional insurance that Athos will be out of the game before the clock strikes midnight."
D'Artagnan's face cleared, and he smirked. "Remind me never to doubt you again."
xxx
Although d'Artagnan did regret having to endure the freezing rain, he looked forward to the prospect of being able to see Constance at the palace. She somehow always knew when he was on guard duty, and would inevitably manage to make sure that their paths crossed sometime during the day. Her presence always served to brighten the long hours of monotony, whether it was with a sweet, lingering kiss in a conveniently empty room, or by an action as simple as offering him a cool glass of water on a blazing hot summer day.
As he paced the perimeter of the east wing, d'Artagnan glanced up at the windows that he knew belonged to the Queen's quarters. On some patrol days, Constance would catch sight of him and blow him a kiss, but there was no sign of her today. He sighed and continued to trudge through the snow, intermittently stamping his feet to try to keep the circulation in his feet going.
Passing Aramis, he muttered, "I hope Athos is nearly at the boiling point. This miserable day will be entirely worth it if Rochefort pushes him over the edge."
xxx
Meanwhile, Athos and Porthos were standing guard outside the council meeting. Athos stared impassively ahead of him, flicking his eyes occasionally to the side to gauge Porthos' mood. He sensed that his friend was restless. It was certainly true that the long winter days were taking their toll on all of them, and tempers were flaring. He had recognized that Porthos was truly affected when the inveterate gambler had chosen to forego his weekly card game with the Red Guards last Friday. The weather had been abysmal that night, and Porthos had decided it was not worth subjecting himself to the wind and snow, as the tavern would likely be half-empty anyway.
Athos knew from experience that Porthos would be itching to gamble, and he had, with a bit of encouragement in the form of a fine bottle of burgundy, persuaded the owner of the Wren to sponsor an all-comers card tournament that night. Such events were highly anticipated, as were the rivalries and fights that inevitably sprang up. The competitions were held twice a year, and usually only advertised twenty four hours in advance. The stakes were always high, and alcohol flowed freely during the raucous play, which typically lasted into the wee hours of the morning. Porthos in his natural habitat. He smirked, knowing the lure of a drink would be strong for the big man that night.
"Did you hear Jean has announced an all-comers card tournament tonight?" he asked casually.
Porthos immediately perked up. "You're kiddin'—tonight? Any idea how many entries?"
"I am really not sure," replied Athos, his voice laced with the best bored aristocratic attitude he could muster. "Besides, why waste my time? I would rather spend the evening quietly."
A guffaw come in response. "Yeah, with your hands wrapped around a bottle of wine. I'm of a mind to while away the night cleanin' out the pockets of the amateurs who think they can compete with me."
"I wish you luck," Athos murmured. "Although I doubt you will need it."
Porthos sighed happily, the prospect of his card skills, both legitimate and otherwise, being put to the test that night. As he settled back against the wall, the door to the room suddenly banged upon, and Rochefort stalked out, his eyes narrowing as he saw the musketeers on guard.
"Musketeers," he sneered. "I see we were taking our life in our hands by having you provide the security for the meeting. Fortunately, despite your usual incompetence, nothing untoward happened."
Athos looked up, his face contrite. "You are so right, Rochefort. Thank God we managed not to bungle this one. I am grateful, as always, for your support." He stopped for a moment, appearing hesitant. "I am taking a chance here by making myself vulnerable, but would you—would you be interested in dinner tonight? My treat."
Rochefort stared back at him, completely confused. "You are offering to take me to dinner?"
Athos inclined his head graciously. "It is the least I could do. Ever since I was a boy, I have wanted to be just like you, and I am so glad for the opportunity I have now to observe you on a daily basis. I hope you do not mind being put on a pedestal—it is sometimes awkward when d'Artagnan does it to me."
"I-I don't know what to think."
"Please say yes." Athos' blue eyes were sincere. "I really think I could benefit from your counsel regarding my ex-wife. I hear you have quite a way with the ladies."
"That is true," Rochefort was thoughtful. "Well, perhaps for one evening I could put aside our differences, especially if dinner is on you. I accept."
"Very well. The Wren at 6?"
His adversary eyed him keenly, then nodded, and strode off, his arrogance safely intact.
"What was that about?" Porthos asked, incredulous at the scene he had just witnessed.
The corner of Athos' mouth quirked up. "It is about patience, my friend-patience, and the long game."
Let me know what you think...the mind games continue next time!