pro_patria_mortuus | (no subject)

Harry has been practicing with the two of them already, and he's getting better! He still feels best with a sword in his hand, but the fact that he may soon have cause to apply this knowledge has definitely changed the tenor of his interest. He might get to do something with himself. It's an exciting prospect!

"Where shall we begin?"

Bahorel looks over at Enjolras. "Joint locks? I'll hit, you stop me?"

For the first round, anyway.

"Sure."

Enjolras has no problem with that plan! And no problem following Bahorel's lead in general, and in this situation in specific. This was Bahorel's idea, and he's the one who knows Brienne better (and knows women better in general).

So: joint locks!

The first punch is slow, so Enjolras responds at the same quarter-speed, stepping aside and twisting Bahorel's arm against itself. He could force Bahorel to the ground from here, or separate his elbow. They hold the position for a moment to show that fact, and then Enjolras releases him and they repeat it: slow again, and then faster, still deliberate.

... It's not hard to be more familiar with women than Enjolras is, really. Bahorel knows for a fact that there are actual priests who manage it.

But that's not what he's thinking about at the moment. Another glance, a quick silent agreement. Bahorel starts to say, conversationally, "Right, now if we were--" and, midsentence, turns and swings for real.

Enjolras knows Bahorel well enough that he probably wouldn't have been surprised by that even without the silent pre-agreement and the conversational lead-in. As it is, he's really not.

Bahorel's fast, and cheerfully vicious. But Enjolras is fast too, and joint locks are an excellent way to turn a fight very quickly. With the momentum of that punch, helped along in the right way -- say hi to the mat, Bahorel!

Hey, mat! Bahorel's gotten on pretty good terms with it, over the last year of nothing to do but practice hobbies like hitting dear friends.

Still, he puts up a token resistance; not enough to hurt himself, but enough to show he would have to-- before tapping out. When Enjolras steps back, Bahorel bounces back up to his feet. "Now I might be able to get out of that, but not without breaking something. You'll see for yourself. Brienne--"

He moves off to one side, holding a hand out for Brienne to come practice with him.

Harry moves towards Enjolras. They've done a bit of this, but really, most of the time he and Bahorel are focused on ways to hit one another, not avoid having to do so.

"Wouldst begin, or shall I?"

"Do thou hit me slowly, and I'll show thee the way of it. Then thou canst try on me."

Everybody can make friends with the mat, and with the limits of their own joints' comfort!

They've done a bit of this, but not a lot, and it's never really seemed to be Harry's first choice of tactic.

Brienne, feeling exposed--alone, in a group of men, without Oathkeeper or her mailshirt--nevertheless watches the jointlock demonstration keenly. It certainly seems effective, though Ser Goodwin never tired of pointing out the difference between practice and combat.

She goes where Bahorel beckons. "Is this how people fight in wars, in your world? No weapons? Or is this more for tavern brawls, and the like?"

Bahorel smiles at that. "Ah, if this was how people in my world fought wars, I wouldn't be here to tell you about it. --No. Soldiers in our world have their guns and bayonets and batons, and use them on any enemy they find or invent. But the guards here aren't meant to be fighting enemies; so yes, this is for bar fights. Not wars, just conversations between people that get a little excited."

He knows that for Proper Knights and soldiers tavern brawls, which often end with everyone making friends and having a singalong, and rarely mean anything worse than a few broken bones and some splintered tables, are considered less respectable than Real Wars, which have a proper body count. It's one of the many reasons he's never trusted the respectable.

"Now-- swing at me. Slow first, like we did the first run."

Look, Bahorel, obviously both respectability and glory rise with the body count! (Brienne has somewhat grown beyond this way of thinking, but she hasn't abandoned every vestige of it).

Dutifully, she takes a slow swing, aiming for Bahorel's throat--a nice soft target.

Talking of war has reminded her of something she meant to tell Bahorel. But she won't talk mid-punch; she'll wait until he's blocked her.

Harry, meanwhile, has gone to work with Enjolras. It's not unlike things he's worked on with him and Bahorel before, even if they've never made it to this sort of thing precisely.

Whether or not, in his heart of hearts, he has relinquished the idea that the only proper combat comes with a sword and armor, his pragmatic side has accepted that hand-to-hand combat is probably the best he's going to regularly get here at Milliways, so he might as well get good at it. And even if he's not quite there yet, he's at least learned the rhythms of practicing it: he's quiet, and focused, and doesn't lose his temper.

Harry's good at it. Of course he is; he's a lifelong soldier, and he knows how to focus. This may be different than the fighting he's best at, but he's still good at it.

Enjolras doesn't spend too long on the straightforward drilling of clearly telegraphed, isolated punches. This isn't open sparring at all, and it isn't full speed yet. But still, he'll shift to tossing different attacks, singly or in combination, at half-speed, and see what Harry does with them.

If the answer is 'fumbles' or 'does the exact same thing a few times in a row,' he'll pause to show a better variation.

(Unlike Bahorel, Enjolras is not someone who thinks to make conversation while he fights, except as it pertains to immediate practical matters.)

Bahorel, though,is entirely someone to be himself, and he has a near constant chatter with Brienne as they move through the attack repeatedly, trading places as defender and attacker. Some of it's nonsensical pretend-insults,when he's playing the part of a drunken troublemaker (such a stretch! but he somehow rises to the challenge) , or, as the excercise goes on, trying to get her to break her concentration with ridiculous stories.

Finally he taps out after a full-speed turn, and bounces back up, grinning. "There, I think you have that one. We can try one with an underhand attack, next." Unless she wants to suggest something different?

Brienne's concentration is iron-clad. She will not be distracted by the pose of a drunken libertine, or by amusing stories.

She will not.

(But she will suppress a smile over them).

"Very well," she says. "But there's one thing I remembered." She pushes a lock of hair out of her face. "Earlier I met a man here--he said he was king of England." Her voice is pitched so Harry and Enjolras can hear this as well. "Harry Monmouth, he called himself. He said he was Bound here, but once he found his Door, he would leave to invade France. That's your country, is it not?"

Brienne, let's remember, does not know Earth history, and all she thinks of 19th century clothing is that it looks strange. She doesn't assume Harry Monmouth is of the same time as Bahorel, but she doesn't know for sure they're of different times either.

"I don't know if there's aught you can do about his, while you're here. But I thought you should know and be warned." She's been a guest in Bahorel's home; a warning's the least she can do.

Bahorel smiles, and presses Brienne's shoulder in thanks. "We know, but it's good to hear it from you too." It is good of her. Any half-aware man in France in their age would know Harry of Momouth as an invader of their history, but Brienne's not from their France, and such news can't be taken for granted, ever. "--He's not being quiet about it, is he?" That's directed at the room in general. Hal has been open about it.

Ah, Hal. Harder every day to find reasons not to push you under the lake. Really, only the certainty that Shakespeare's world is not quite his own keeps it from feeling like a duty.

"If you need help..." She trails off awkwardly. "He wasn't quiet about it at all, no. He declared it freely, with no secrecy, and seemed very pleased at the prospect."

"Our countries have their disagreements." There's an understatement. "History says he will do this; him, and many other English kings; so there's likely little to gain by acting against him here." National politics are never as punchable as Bahorel feels in his soul they somehow should be. He is forever angry about this. "And we can hardly cross back over to our France in any era, to try to intervene." He looks at Brienne a moment, and then grins. "Ah, but remind me when we're done, there's something about our history I think you'll find interesting." Brienne could be an artist's very vision of Jehanne d'Arc, all earnestness and conviction as she is.

Harry's been trying to focus on grappling with Enjolras and ignore them, because it's not his conversation, and he does like Bahorel, but-- act against him? Intervene?

"And shall I go, that thou canst plot against my country's king in peace?" he snaps, once he has freed himself from one of Enjolras's holds.

Bahorel laughs. "I've said nothing here I've not said to your country's own king, to his face. Much less, in fact. You may ask him about it. Hah, I want a recording of that if you do; if he tries to make me sound diplomatic about anything, I'll box him." He'll box Hal anyway, but hey, moreso. He looks at Harry a little more seriously. "Would you like it better if I cheered for the invasion of my country?" Some men would, but Harry's never seemed the sort to expect that.

"No indeed," Harry replies. "And therefore I ask it not, and speak not to thee of it-- ere now."

Enjolras has been listening to this in silence, watching the others' faces. His eyebrows rose a little at Harry's irritation, but that's all.

On the one hand: this is the king whose father Harry Percy died rebelling against, and whose own hand and sword killed Harry. My country's king, he says now, as if he owed any loyalty -- and does he feel he does, now, still? -- and as if any king can hold legitimate power.

On the other hand: he's an Englishman, the only one of his nation in this room, and friends with most of the Amis despite the long and bloody history of warring across the very Channel that King Henry plans to cross. It's one thing to build a bridge of friendship across that divide, but another thing to transfer his loyalties across it. He hasn't, and they'd never expect him to.

"Thou knowest," he says now, quietly, "that it's not the people of thy nation we'd oppose, except in defense of France." That's more for Brienne's sake than Harry's. Of course Harry knows, or he wouldn't be on friendly terms with any of them.

"But it's true," and this addressed to Brienne, "that we knew of his aims, and that it's nothing in our reach now, so we may as well leave the whole matter there. Thank you for the warning. It was kindly done."

That's as much peacemaking as he's likely to do. These are thorny issues, and if Bahorel and Harry want or need to argue them out more, he's hardly going to try to stop them. But if it's only a brief flash in the pan of temper, Brienne of Tarth doesn't need to be in the middle of it just for passing on an honorable warning.

Brienne shrugs, slightly embarrassed. "'Twas no trouble." She hadn't meant to start a quarrel, nor had she considered that Harry Percy would be so eager to defend a king he'd tried to overthrow. But even if she'd known, she would have given the warning regardless.

She finds it odd, though, to hear Enjolras say it's not the people of thy nation we'd oppose. Don't the people follow their king? But then, Enjolras and Bahorel have strange ideas about that, as well.

For Harry, it's a chain of logic that is clear and natural. He must believe, true though his cause was, he was fairly and honestly defeated. Given that, despite his father's disloyalty, despite his own reckless ways, it must be that Hal earned his throne.

And besides-- and this, even if pressed, he would not know quite how to say-- if he will not stand for this King of England, this King the strange ways of this place has gradually brought him to respect-- then what country can he stand for? Is he still English at all?

But no one does press him for a motive, so he says to Enjolras, "Ay, I know it." And to Brienne, "'tis done, and far away, and matters not. There is none of us shall see it. --but come, what now shall we try?"

What now--? Hmm.

Bahorel thinks a moment, then grins. "Here, Harry; want to fight about it?" And because Harry's not one to always understand a joke right away, and they are really practicing here and not setting up their own real fight, he adds "--You're both as likely to be breaking up a fight as getting attacked yourselves--and with people you don't want to hurt too badly."

Harry is, yes, caught off-balance by the joke-- but just for a moment! He gets it now! And he nods. "Ay, a wise thought."

Brienne watches Harry and Bahorel as they move onto the same mat, Enjolras off to the side.

She remembers that Security officers are in charge of breaking up amorous encounters as well as fights, and wonders if Bahorel will suggest they practice that as well. The sudden thought makes her blush--but surely not even he would be so shameless. Brienne pushes the foolish thought out of her mind. When Harry and Bahorel begin their mock-fight, she will slide between them to impose peace.