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Alexander started it, but then, Alexander started a lot of things. He was the sort of person who saw a peaceful situation and threw a firecracker into the middle of it. I admired that, I who stood on the side lines always. Even in our conversation that day, I was a supporting character, umm-ing and err-ing and backing up James.
Richard: “I still really don’t see how As You Like It is an appropriate play to be studying in the winter. It’s anachronistic, don’t you think?”
Filippa, brushing snow from her short hair: “I think you have the wrong definition of anachronistic.”
Richard: “Seasonally anachronistic.”
Alexander: “You need to check your terminology, Dick.”
James: “Really, there’s no specification of the season in As You Like It. We assume it’s summer simply because of its setting; summer seems appropriate, I suppose. It could just as easily be set in a winter wonderland, don’t you think?”
Me: “I think Frederick would love that idea. You should suggest it to him.”
You could say that Frederick was intrigued by unconventional stagings of Shakespeare at the least, and fanatical at the most.
Wren: “Please don’t give him any more ideas for Dream. We’ll be in nightgowns in the snow if we’re not careful.”
Meredith grimaced: “Don’t even mention it. I’m going to freeze in that slip of nylon-nothingness as it is.”
There was a lost beat where we all expected Alexander to chime in with something overly enthusiastic and vaguely inappropriate. I glanced back; he had been there when we left class, residing in my periphery like a devil perched on my shoulder.
“We seem to have lost Alexander again,” James observed.
“He probably wandered off to smoke somewhere.”
“Without us? And where, out here? Behind a tree?”
I took Meredith’s point as I looked around. The walk between the FAB and the pub during an exceptionally wintery December was a blank vastness of cracked snow and brittle trees.
“Maybe-”
Richard didn’t finish his sentence: the snowball hit him hard between the shoulder blades and he whirled around. Silently, Alexander had reappeared, and stood laughing raucously a few metres away. His pointed teeth gave his mirth a faintly vindictive feel.
“It is war’s prize to take all vantage,” he told Richard with a grin as he watched him splutter and try to dust off his coat.
The second snowball came out of seemingly nowhere, hitting Alexander upside the head. Meredith was behind it, standing with a smile which bordered on a smirk and another snowball cradled in one hand. She had always had the best aim of the six of us.
“Sound trumpets! Let our bloody colours wave!
And either victory, or else a grave,” she challenged, stepping forward with a glint in her eyes.
Then Filippa hit her in the face with more snow, and all hell broke loose.
Alexander, it transpired, had been stockpiling snowballs during the precious few minutes in which we had lost him. He resided over his horde triumphantly and met any and all approaches with flamboyantly delivered excerpts from the Henriad
.
In an attempt to combat him, Meredith and Wren hung back together and sought sneak-attacks from the shadows; James, Filippa and I tried and failed abysmally to knock Alexander from his perch. The three of us combined were spirited, yet had a general lack of aim. Pip was the best of our small division - James was apt to craft perfectly spherical snowballs and miss by inches, and I almost overbalanced more than once as I threw overarm.
I steadied myself for yet another time just as Pip got caught in the crossfire of Richard and Alexander. The snowball hit her across the cheek, fragmenting into clumps of snow. She was still laughing as she yelled to them, "Thou art villains!"
"One may smile, and smile, and be a villain," Richard replied smugly.
"I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways," she muttered, bent to scoop snow into her hands, and rushed headlong toward Richard. They collided in a shower of snow, cursing and giggles.
I was following suit, packing together more snow, when James tugged at the back of my coat. I let the snowflakes fall from my fingers as he gestured to me.
"I suspect without Pip we have little chance of victory," he said once we were safely sheltered behind a tree. We were both breathing hard, our breaths escaping in puffs of steam.
"I get the feeling you may be right," I laughed breathlessly. James nodded and ran a hand through his hair, and I frowned.
"What happened to your glove?"
He looked down as though just noticing and wiggled his fingers. They moved awkwardly, half-frozen.
"I must have lost it in the heat of battle."
I shook my head exasperatedly, "He that is truly dedicated to war hath no self-love. You should have said something; the others could have helped us find it."
"O war! Thou son of hell! Purveyor of lost gloves and snow in the eyes," James replied ironically. "No, Oliver, it's okay-"
I shook my head, stripping off my own right glove, "James, please, your fingers are practically blue. Put on the glove."
"Won't your hand freeze? That's no solution."
"It's a temporary solution. Until the war ends."
His fingertips brushing against my palm were full of cold electricity.
"Thank you..."
"Put it on. Jesus, your fingers are cold."
"Oliver..."
There was an odd moment wherein we simply looked at each other. James' eyes were darker than ever above his cold-flushed cheeks. I swallowed and opened my mouth to speak.
"James, I-arrghh!"
His hands darted nimbly down the back of my collar and deposited two handfuls of snow. It prickled uncomfortably on my skin and I leapt away, stumbling on snow and branches.
"James!"
He threw back his head and laughed, his eyes at all once three shades lighter and shining. I scowled at him and tried uselessly to retrieve the snow from my coat, but it was melting rapidly against my skin.
"Let slip the dogs of war." An infuriating smile played about the corners of James' mouth. I glared, brushed myself off, and omitted to warn him: Alexander was sneaking up behind him. The warfare had degenerated amongst the others, too; instead of a snowball, he spun James around by the shoulder, and gave him a handful of snow directly to the face.
I doubled over laughing, joining the chorus of James coughing on snow and Alexander's sniggers.
"Did you honestly think you were safe from me behind a tree?" he leered at the two of us. I wiped tears from my eyes.
"We needed a momentary break from warfare."
"Even the most skilled warriors need to relax," James said, shaking snow from his hair, "You bastard."
"You deserved it, you traitor.”
James clasped his hands piously before him, "Oh, Oliver, I was only testing your reflexes."
"All's fair in love and war," Alexander smirked. He caught my eye meaningfully and I frowned, not quite understanding.
"Of course. What do you say to banding together and sneaking up on the others?"
"You know I’ll always say yes to treachery."
We fell back to making snowballs. My one bare hand smarted with the cold, but glancing sideways at James with his mismatched gloves, I felt I could deal with it.
Alexander handed me a snowball - he was faster at making them than me - and I lowered my voice slightly to ask, "Love and war? I only see the one."
His eyebrows quirked up. Disbelief or pity; it could have been either.
"Oliver, if you can only see one, then you're blind."
He clapped me on the back, slipped another handful of snow past the folds of my scarf, and ran away laughing.