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If he thinks too much more about this, Feuilly will think himself back into his room. Which explains at least some of the urgency with which Feuilly trots down the hall to Harry's door, and knocks.

Nothing except the history of their friendship explains why he's bringing his training sword. But it makes perfect sense to Feuilly. They might need to go hit things with swords! Possibly each other! A certain amount of judicious hitting-with-swords has always been an integral part of their friendship.

(...so, yes, to the outside observer, it might look like Feuilly is charging down the hallway with a look of determination, armed, and pounding on Harry Percy's door.)

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"Then I do not understand," Harry says, looking incredulous. "Thou need'st must believe me scoundrel indeed, to think I would join such a fight. Wherefore would I do so? It was not, it was not indeed!"

Oh, for--

Feuilly holds up his hands. "I don't agree with Monmouth's war. Of course I don't: how can I? Invading France? On the flimsiest of pretexts? But to join your nation's army, outnumbered, suffering from, from hunger and disease--that's not precisely the same thing as joining in Monmouth's cause."

"I cannot see the difference," Harry says stubbornly. "I would not join a cause I thought unjust."

"No, I didn't think you would," Feuilly says levelly. "It's why I was so surprised. --I was surprised," he says, cutting off any interjection, "that you would fight in a campaign that seemed to me to be so--so corrupt. But you're a soldier, and I can see that fighting for England's army when they were so badly outnumbered, that can be an honorable duty."

Lady is whining anxiously; he bends to give her a perfunctory pat. Is this a fight they need to have out after all?

"Well-- well." It's hard to spark his temper against speech so sensible, and it's already starting to fizzle. "If so thou think'st it, I cannot marvel you were displeased. But if you may trust I did naught but what I thought honorable-- why, thou'rt French. I cannot beg thee applaud my country's fight."

"I know you wouldn't do anything you thought was dishonorable." He gives Lady another pat and straightens up. "But no, I can't really applaud Monmouth in this."

Reading more about the campaign hasn't made it sound any better. Killing the prisoners at Agincourt? The ruthlessness of the siege of Rouen? Maybe this isn't the same Monmouth in Feuilly's history books, but--the texts have been enough to take away any rose-tinted view of knightly warfare.

"Well-- well." His gaze drifts to the floor, then he looks up again. "And so shall this stand between us?"

"I hope not." He catches Harry's gaze, tries to hold it. "Not on my side."

"And I hope the same," he says. "And sure two hopes may make it so?"

"Absolutely." He offers his hand. Friends?

Harry seizes it with both of his.

"I-- I feel I can scarce call that honorable which thou mislikest."

Well--then Feuilly will wrap his other hand around Harry's. "Friends can disagree. Why--even Joly and Lesgle disagree sometimes." (They have to, right? Just don't ask him to name any specific examples.) "--And anyway, it's--there's hardly ever anything that's, that's so clear that there's only one way to see it. I wasn't thinking, then, how the choice seemed to you."

Edited 2016-04-01 22:49 (UTC)

He nods. "And I-- I may claim the same fault."

"It happens." He frees a hand to pull Harry close into a hug. That's all right then.

(One of the most obvious symptoms of love: Feuilly has no desire at the moment to present the detailed and reasoned argument that he could, on the subject of Henry V's war in France.)

He gladly returns the embrace, and with no less relief.

"Well-- well," he says at last. "I am most glad of this."

Whatever Feuilly says to that is muffled in Harry's shoulder, but it sounds like firm agreement. And he stays muffled up in Harry's shoulder for quite some time, before tugging Harry over to sit down on the bed. (Shoo, Lady, down.)

"It's been strange to, to be working on the stables, but not to be working with you."

"How goes that work?" Harry asks. "I have not attended to it as I should."

"Pretty well. I haven't been doing as much as I should. They're putting in brick--well, you've noticed that. William Evans is directing much of the work, and there's Fauchelevant--Valjean--from my Paris. Well, and Javert has been working too." Everyone's favorite person, that.

All of which Harry has probably seen, because they live in the same very small world.

"Strange the man should be so helpful," Harry mutters. Ugh, Javert.

But thinking of people he dislikes reminds him of someone he hates even more than Javert.

"But look you, Léon-- I told thee I did speak to Jim, and I say I trust him not."

....oh Harry.

"I think you're right not to trust him," Feuilly says gravely. And only then permits himself a little smile. Because Harry. HARRY. "Was it--was it arranging the delivery of an explosive to your horse's stall that set you off?"

"Nay, but--" He starts to laugh and smacks Feuilly's arm. He is trying to be serious. "Ay, it had a touch of that in it-- but I tell thee, I spoke with him, and other threats he made, all as baseless as this first. And I did tell him-- for at the time it seemed it might be so, and for I little think he minds any law of noble conduct-- that thou and I had parted company. And little cause I see that he should soon learn otherwise."

Feuilly laughs too, maybe more than it deserves, and smacks Harry's arm in return, because it feels so much better to be doing that than to pointedly not be doing that. But yes, see, he can be serious too.

"--Oh. Hm." That's an interesting point. "Hm. Yes, I--I don't know that I can be very, um, very convincing about not being your friend, but--we can try."

It might take Jim all of thirty seconds to notice that Feuilly has Harry's dogs around him again. But sure! They can try!

"It is not thee I doubt," Harry says quickly. "Thou'rt as sound as any, and as brave, and cleverer than most, and could sure withstand whatever trick he may try upon thee. But I would he would not try at all, thinking there to be no cause."

Again: oh, Harry. Feuilly can't help smiling at him, more soberly this time, but still very fondly. "I'll do my best. You're quite right, he doesn't need any--any help finding trouble to make. I'd be happy never to say another word to him." Seriously, no great loss there.

Harry shrugs. Said out loud, the whole thing sounds a bit stupid now. "Why, do as thou list."