THE PASSION OF AUSTERLITZ -- NAPOLEON X ALEXANDER

CHAPTER 1 - No Fighting in the War Room

╚══ ஓ   May 1803   ஓ ══╝

"What's it looking like so far?" Napoleon glanced around the war room. Only stern eyes met his gaze.

"The Peace of Amiens seems to have fallen apart," spoke Napoleon's advisor. "A third coalition is on the horizon."

Napoleon scoffed. "Same old, same old?"

"They never give up, your imperial majesty," General Murat coughed. "Especially those damn Brits."

"You have to give it to the Austrians, though. The Habsburgs are relentless!" exclaimed another.

"Don't speak out of turn." Napoleon's head whipped back at the forthright, young man. "What was I going to say?" He pondered to himself before arriving at his answer. "Oh! Those Austrians, however determined they may be, are no match to my French army."

General Murat tapped his fingers against his coat, observing the Eastern front on the displayed map. "I fear the Russians are willing to put up a great fight."

The advisor nodded at Murat, not seeming to notice the general's concern. "Hm, yes, the Russians." He checked the cuffs of his shirt with a tight frown on his face.

"Please!" guffawed Napoleon. "Are you seriously worried about the Russians with the Romanovs in power? They've been nothing but disappointing! Things get so tiresome with their boorish fighting."

"Your majesty, with all due respect, it's not about their skill, I'd say. The Russian army greatly outnumbers ours–"

Napoleon opened his mouth to interject. A deep, boisterous voice promptly silenced him.

"Oh, Murat, you are greatly mistaken." Marshal Davout scorned. The room hung without a single noise in the air. Davout, the French minister of war, controlled the floor with enough menace to force Napoleon into attentive stillness. He caught the apprehensive gaze of Murat.

Murat's throat tightened. "How so, sir?"

"You fool, it was never about the numbers! How could a person in the presence of the imperial majesty himself be so daft?"

With Davout's condescending remarks, Murat burned a bright red. He seethed. "What in God's name could it all be about, hm? We have been fighting battles for years defending the French Empire, and for what?" Murat's voice cracked. His eyes searched for fury in the room, yet he only found a stagnant Napoleon among quivering officials. "All the bloodshed—-what does it amount to?" The silence ridiculed him. "I've fought tirelessly for a war that our appraised emperor can't help but ignite. Each time, we lose valiant men for a victory that gives nothing to the good citizens of the Empire."

"We didn't start the wars, Murat. We never have. Regardless, we win."

A haughty grin spread across Davout's face.

"You... you're smiling?"

Davout's smirk only grew wider.

"You think this is funny, huh?" Murat's feet carried him across the war room. His hands lurched for the collar of Davout's coat. The general brought the minister's face so close to his own that his enraged breaths seeped into his captive's nostrils, boiling into a grotesque discomfort. "I... I haven't seen my family for months! All I do is fight. For him!" Murat released a hand to point accusingly at Napoleon, who watched the entire spectacle with a certain light in his eye. "It's easy for anyone in this room to admit behind the Emperor's back that they're sick of his shit. We don't need to entertain the coalitions. We don't need an empire. We don't need to lose anything else for Napoleon's ambition."

Davout spat in Murat's eye. "To think a man as cowardly as you could have risen so far up in ranks."

Just as Murat pulled his fist back for a punch, Napoleon intercepted. "That's enough from you two. There is no fighting in the war room." He flung Murat away from Davout, keeping his eyes fixated on the foreign minister. "Thank you for standing your ground. As for you, Murat," Napoleon paused to face the general, "thank you for your concern." Murat's lips were pursed into a grimace. "I think that wraps up the meeting. I've made my decision about how we will proceed with the Third Coalition."

The emperor stepped aside from both parties. Davout remained resilient. "Your imperial majesty, will you let this disrespectful buffoon roam free without punishment?"

"Oh." Napoleon glimpsed at Murat for the last time. "Atonement is best complemented by remorse." The general's demeanor shifted, and it was as if he turned blue. "And remorse, good sir, is often accompanied by fear."

Murat's bloodshot eyes watched as each person filed out of the room. Paralyzed, his mind raced, cursing his impulsiveness and idiocy. It wasn't until the emperor himself pulled the general out of his trance. He placed his hand on Murat's shoulder. Napoleon smiled, entertained by how rapidly his hand shook due to his trusted general's quivering body.

"Those valiant men are trained to handle the Russians."

Napoleon left the room. He had never spoken a word to Murat again. It was as if, conveniently, he vanished from France's sight.

The emperor relaxed in his bed without a single worry painted on his face. His advisor entered the room.

"Your imperial majesty, it's imperative we begin our preparations for war tonight... if participating, of course. What do you say?"

"Tell our men to refine those claws of theirs. This is going to be a long game, but we must wait with patience and readiness."

The advisor nodded before promptly leaving.

Napoleon gazed at the roof of his bed frame. He laughed. He hadn't laughed so hard in a while.

"France is mine. Europe is mine. They need me. Those weak, insolent souls need me."