pro_patria_mortuus | (no subject)

"So it is. I cannot say--"

He likes very much to deal in absolutes. But even he can see this isn't really a case where that's possible.

"If one should ask, then the circumstances must be judged. But I think I would not seek it out."

Enjolras much prefers absolutes, too, and decisive action. But he has a great deal of practice at holding himself in readiness instead, and acknowledging unwelcome complications and nuance.

He nods, now.

"I haven't gone to any yet. But -- it's a dilemma. If I were urgently asked, or saw that I could be of aid... I don't have a ready answer."

"As you say, so much is circumstance. And the underlying principle is complex."

"Feuilly says as much," Harry says. "That it is not good, to join another's fight."

Feuilly's argument was rather more nuanced than this. But it was some time ago, and details really aren't Harry's strongest suit.

Luckily, Enjolras has heard the nuanced version, a time or six.

It's an oversimplification, certainly. How much does Percy realize he's oversimplifying, he wonders.

"What thinkest thou?"

Like most of Enjolras's questions, it's genuine. What does Harry think of this? How much has he thought about this? Enough to discuss it with Feuilly, who's a brilliant man and a scrupulously ethical thinker. But mostly it's that Enjolras will always, always prefer to hear someone else's thoughts instead of only holding forth with his own.

"When we did speak of it, I thought it strange," Harry says. "If a cause be good and the help required, why, who would question? But in Rollo's village-- I own 'twas odd. We spoke not their language."

In the moment he didn't trouble himself with it, the looks of alarm they received before their fighting could make their allegiances abundantly clear. But remembering it now is faintly unsettling. ...not that Harry feels unsettled, ever!

"And as thou sayest, this case is clearer than another might be." He speaks slowly, carefully-- it's like sounding it words when learning to read, only he's sounding out thoughts not sprung from a fit of anger or passion. "I doubt not the justice of my cause-- but the king doubts not the justice of his, and came he here to draw men to his side, he would tell them they fought for right, and they would know no other better. --But I think the king well doth know the wrongs he has done," he cannot help but add. "But he is well skilled in disguising it."

Enjolras nods.

(And doesn't touch the question of whether the king knows he's in the wrong. For all he knows, that's even correct; in a broader sense, it doesn't matter.)

He doesn't ask anything, in fact. Any question would be too leading, when what he wants is to hear Percy's own thoughts.

Harry always half-expects to be told to be quiet when he starts talking (which is probably why he talks so loudly, and tries to get everything out all at once). Enjolras's habit of not only letting him go on, but waiting expectantly for him to do so still takes him by surprise.

"But I think I cannot answer truly until 'tis put to the test. Rollo's fight I could not deny-- perchance other causes will seem so plain."

"That's fair," Enjolras agrees.

"To turn one's back on a good cause, that's another way to fight for a bad one. But each of us has only his judgment to tell one from the other."

That's true always. But it's accentuated here, where there's so little data to base that judgment on.

"And his judgment of he who tells the tale," Harry points out. Not that he trusted Rollo particularly-- but he suspects few other opportunities will be quite so straightforward in their morality.

"Yes, you're right."

Very true. And related -- in some ways the heart of it.

Duncan, feeling neglected in the midst of all this philosophy, blows out a breath and lips at Harry's shoulder. Maybe there are carrots hidden there? A horse can hope.

"Beg your pardon, friend," Harry says with mock-indignation. "Thou dost interrupt."

He strokes Duncan's nose, then turns abruptly back to Enjolras as an idea occurs. "Wouldst please thee ride?"

Let us pretend that Enjolras said thou'rt right up there and the mun didn't mess up her archaic-in-English pronouns OKAY COOL

He didn't come with that in mind, and he could be in better boots for it -- but everything will serve, and why not, if there are two horses available? Enjolras smiles a little, as much at the abrupt and boyish offer as at the idea itself. "Sure. Why not?"

Harry grins. "Ay, indeed? I would not keep thee from thy business."

Enjolras makes a small gesture as if to encompass all of Milliways, rather wryly.

"I have nothing pressing."

It's not that he has nothing to do. It's not even that he has nothing that matters -- though it can't compare to the real work of home. But there's nothing that's on a schedule, not really.

Restlessness is easy to find here, and hard to set fully aside.

Harry claps him on the shoulder. "Come, then!"

He's not usually quite so enthusiastic just about riding-- but he likes Enjolras (and particularly after his recent encounters, it may also be that he likes Enjolras as proof that he can get on with Feuilly's friends).

(Enjolras has never found him difficult to get along with!

...Enjolras is aware that, by dint of his upbringing and personality, he has an unfair shortcut into a medieval English nobleman taking him seriously. He can hardly undo that, but he's conscious of it as a problem.)

Anyway. Obediently, he follows! To the tack room, and then to saddling and bridling the mare Harry indicates.

He's more used to a groom handling this, but he was certainly taught how to do it. He's not as briskly efficient as he could be, but competent.

Harry is in precisely the same case-- though he's gotten enough practice now, he's much better than he was, quicker and tidier.

He leads Duncan out to wait for Enjolras, where he may find them mid one-sided conversation, Harry bent low over Duncan's neck murmuring affectionate nonsense.

Enjolras has never picked up the habit of murmuring nothings to anyone and anything, including animals. But his mare, a fine-boned tall grey with the bemusing name of Rachat, seems to like him well enough anyway, after the first skeptical investigation.

He leads her out as well, and mounts with thoughtless ease. It's not the carelessness of a man who's spent days and years in the saddle -- he's neither cavalryman nor cowboy, just athletic, and the son of an officer and merchant with plenty of money to hire tutors.

Shall they?

They shall! Down along and around the lake; into the fringes of the forest, but not too deep; and Harry might even try to goad Enjolras into a race across the lawn before they return to the stables.

It's not particularly conducive to much more than small talk, and riding is one of the few times that Harry is even-- shocking, yes-- content to be silent.

Enjolras will, in fact, let himself be persuaded fairly easily into a race. Not into feeling competitive about it -- Harry, who knows Duncan's particular cues and moods much better than Enjolras knows Rachat's, and who besides that has spent a much greater proportion of his life on horseback, wins handily -- but into enjoying the speed and the exertion, yes.

(After the gallop, they have to circle around to retrieve Enjolras's hat. Oh well.)

He's looking ~~photogenically~~ windblown, but quietly content, when they amble back to the stable. So is Rachat.

Harry's contentment is rather less subdued, and he dismounts exuberantly when they arrive.

"What thinkest thou of her?" he asks, registering his own approval of Duncan's conduct with a carrot he fishes out of his pocket. Yes, Duncan, he was holding out on you all this time.

DUNCAN KNEW IT. But he doesn't seem too betrayed, as he happily crunches away at the carrot (and gets bits of orange all over his bit for Harry to clean off later.)

Rachat, for her part, noses at Enjolras's pocket in hope, and juuuust gently enough to not have her nose pushed away for bad manners. "No, I've nothing for you," he tells her, but he does scratch her neck in apology.

"A good horse, and willing," he says to Harry. "And good at her paces -- much better than I'd've thought for a horse who's available for all to ride unquestioned. I liked her fine."

This kind of sounds like damning with faint praise, but there's real approval in his voice and in the way he pats her arching neck. And they both could see her conformation and responsive speed perfectly well.

"It is strange," he agrees. "But for aught I know, the both of them may have some magic in 'em. Here, who can say?"

"...That's true."

He hadn't thought of it.

"Well, either way, they seem good horses."

And not, oh, sentient or mechanical or about to sprout wings or talk, or whatever.

It's still a strange thought. Milliways.

....yeah, sorry for planting that seed, Enjolras.

"When next thou hast a wish to ride, or need a companion in't, I would glad accompany thee."