pro_patria_mortuus | (no subject)

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Enjolras spent the afternoon (or the loose Milliways equivalent) first in conversation with Courfeyrac -- primarily discussing certain philosophers of the mid-20th century, but also hearing an enthusiastically convoluted description of Courfeyrac's new favorite television shows. After that, sparring with Bahorel.

He's just washed up and changed into a clean shirt and waistcoat, and is considering between dinner and the library, when there's a familiar knock on the door. "Come in," he calls.

He doesn't yet know which friend it is, but all the same the smile of greeting started at the knock.

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No--he hasn't misinterpreted. That's the heart of it. A certain gratitude shows in Feuilly's face. "Oh, I think some of them are clever men--brilliant, even--and probably good people of their time. And--it's a hard time, and a hard place. I don't know if they could come here and--change. I can be patient, usually. It just--"

Hm. He rubs his face. "It took me by surprise that Athelstan has joined them so much. Going on raids. --I don't know if you've heard, but they've had one of those time--strangenesses. A week or two passed here, but four years for them. I haven't been sure how to talk to him."

"I hadn't heard."

It's a troubling thought, for all that of course it's happened many times throughout humanity's history: a man brought to the point of joining his oppressors, even turning his sympathies to them, whatever bonds of real affection might spur him. Enjolras reaches out to press Feuilly's shoulder.

"That's hard. To encompass such a change -- how could you be expected to take that without a qualm? I'm sure it's harder for him, but nonetheless, difficult for those who knew him a week before as a different man."

Edited 2015-06-21 16:01 (UTC)

The earnestness is so real, and so welcome, that Feuilly has to laugh softly at himself, tangling a hand in his hair and reaching up to press the hand on his shoulder. "Thank you. Thank you, Enjolras. I did need to hear that it's not absurd to--be taken aback a moment. The conversation with Father Harman had me doubting it myself--and, you know, here I am saying that I half liked that Harry Percy, who's come here from probably a bigger battle than any of the Vikings. I ought to be more consistent. I wish I were. --I'm sorry, I've come here with a dozen different conversations in my head at once."

"But of course you're consistent."

This earnestness, too, is very genuine, and accompanied by another light press to Feuilly's shoulder.

"You've always lived up to your ideals consistently. To like a man new-come, who begins with tentative listening, that's very different from someone who seeks out other lands to conquer. Even then, there would be no shame in finding common ground, enough for dialogue, a bridge to the beginning of education and views exchanged, if that were how you felt."

Enjolras has never been much good at the sort of social friendship that doesn't demand intellectual common ground, but plenty of their friends find satisfaction in it.

He laughs again, rueful and glad; he can feel himself blush. "Oh, no, I don't think I've ever managed anything like consistency. But thank you. --And you're right," Feuilly adds more seriously. "There's never any shame in finding common ground--I've never thought so. It startled me, when Athelstan said he was going on raids now, but there's still common ground to find."

He falls silent. One of the threads tangling up his thoughts just now is the scriptural work: but it pulls on his (very vague) thoughts about religion and (his much more complicated thoughts) about craftsmanship, and he knows these are foreign territory for Enjolras. Prouvaire, perhaps, might be a man to ask...

"Thank you," he says again to Enjolras.

"Always."

Feuilly knows that.

He does know that, and he smiles--but he still appreciates it. And he also knows that Enjolras would argue him out of any idea that seemed wrong to him. A loyal friend, the dearest friend, but an honest one, too.

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