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"That's it! I've had it!"
Jurand almost jumped out of bed when Leo burst into his room spitting with rage, the door banging hard against the wall and smashing the previously tranquil evening atmosphere to smithereens.
"Leo!" He hurriedly slid a bookmark between the pages of Stolicus and stuck one foot out from under the sheets, ready to head off a hoard of Northmen if need be. "What happened? What's wrong?"
But the only thing Leo was fighting with now was his jacket, wrestling it off, sleeves flapping. "My mother, is what's wrong!" he complained. "My mother, and all the ridiculous women she keeps trying to marry me off to!" He flung the jacket against the wall. "I swear to Juvens, if I have to sit through one more of those bloody dinners, I'll forsake women forever. I mean, what are they good for, really, eh? Women? Apart from making babies, and making men feel like complete fucking morons." He flopped down across the end of Jurand's bed, running his hands over his eyes.
"Oh..." Jurand drew his legs back beneath the warm blankets, flooded with relief.
"It's not like I even need her help finding a wife," Leo grumbled. "Girls practically throw themselves at me on a daily basis. Can't get rid of them!"
"Mmm…" Jurand murmured. He supposed that’s what happened when you were the handsome, young, celebrated Lord Governor of Angland. Ever since Harod dan Brock's death, it seemed as if every noble house in the Union had scrambled to ship their most beautiful daughters off to Ostenhorm in the hopes that they would hunt down the Young Lion. Carriage after carriage of them, larger than life in their wigs and dresses and jewels, each lovelier and richer and more impressive than the last.
It was just a shame for them that Leo's tastes did not align with the latest Aduan high society fashions. Perhaps if the ladies had chosen to wear plated mail they might have had better luck.
"Sometimes I wish mother would just bloody arrange something for me and be done," Leo sighed. "At least then it would be over quickly."
Jurand smiled wryly. "So… you don't need your mother, or you do?"
Leo tilted his head, eyeing him accusingly. "Whose side are you on?"
"Yours, as always," Jurand replied primly, and snatched his book up again. "But in any case, you've only just turned twenty. You've got ages until you actually need to think about settling down. There's no need to rush into anything, regardless of what Lady Finree says." He didn't tell Leo how his heart ached at the mere thought of him falling in love, how much bitter jealousy he felt toward every one of those potential wives, those undeserving opportunists. He'd been unable to sleep, as always happened when Leo attended the special dinners, unable to shift the fear that he might come back fired up by more than just drink and some petty grievance or other, terrified of that moment when their friendship, their carefree youth, and Jurand's ember of hope, would all suddenly be consigned to the dusty past.
Leo didn't look convinced. "You're right, of course. It's just…" He gave another heavy sigh and shook his head, apparently dismissing whatever thought had been coalescing. Then he sat up with a grunt of effort and began to take off his shirt. "Anyway, d'you mind if I sleep in here tonight? The better to avoid mother's constant griping. She's on the warpath, but she'd never be rude enough to burst into your room unannounced."
Unlike how you just did... Jurand thought, but he nodded, "Of course," and scooched up to make room, trying to fight down the thumping of his heart as he watched Leo undress.
The Young Lion swore under his breath a few times, his tipsy, calloused fingers working at the tiny buttons and tight fabric. Recent years had broadened his shoulders, bulked out his arms and chest, chiselled his jaw, and Jurand couldn't help but feel a warm little glow of satisfaction at the thought that he - and not some simpering woman in a wig - was privileged with the view. He could feel his cock getting hard and he looked away, red-faced. An erection was the last thing he needed while sharing a bed with his best friend.
With just his long, soft, linen undershirt left on, Leo slid into bed. He gave his pillow a hearty punch or two and settled down on his side.
"Sorry, did I interrupt your reading?" he asked, eyeing the small, battered, red book in Jurand's palm.
Jurand shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I've already read this one more times than I can count."
"Verturio?"
"Stolicus." He plucked fondly at the frayed spine, where the gold leaf that had once spelled out the name had been worn away so much that it was illegible.
Leo's brow furrowed. "Is he the one who said, 'two thirds of war is waiting'?"
"Nine tenths," Jurand corrected, and snorted at the way Leo rolled his eyes. "You should give it a try, honestly. I daresay this little book alone has decided the kinds of battles and won the kinds of wars we can only dream about these days. King Casamir himself probably took it to battle when he claimed Angland from the North."
Leo reached over and poked at a dog-eared corner. "It certainly looks like it's seen a battlefield or two."
“I should think it probably has. It belonged to your grandfather originally, according to your mother. And she gave it to me in the vain hope I might convince you to read it.”
“Ah. No luck there, then.” Leo smiled and flopped onto his stomach. He wrapped his arms around his pillow, hugging it tight.
Jurand loved the way Leo's face would light up just hearing those grand words: 'battle', and 'war', and the names of great heroes of old. He could practically see the stress sluice off him.
"See, why do I even need a wife?” Leo sighed. “I've got you looking out for me. We're brothers-in-arms, the two of us. You're the best damn friend any man could wish for. Better than any woman, or girlfriend, and certainly better than any wife."
"I'm fairly sure I lack certain physical qualities," Jurand said, waggling his eyebrows. Leo gave a warm laugh, which, when it faded, turned into a pensieve silence.
"True, but… I don't know…" he began. “Do you ever feel…?" He wriggled uncomfortably, brow scrunched up in thought, then he shook his head. "Nevermind."
"What?" Jurand said softly.
At length, Leo mulled it over. "Do you ever feel like all that's stuff's a bit… I dunno. Overrated?"
Jurand frowned. "What stuff?"
"You know…" Leo's cheeks reddened. "Women. Tits, and whatever. Everything else they have that most men go mad for? Not that I don't like women, obviously! Of course I do!" he insisted, just a tad too vehemently. "Just that… well… The way Antaup and Jin go on about women's chests, you'd think that that's the only thing that matters, when actually, I think… once you've seen one pair you've pretty much seen them all. And, let's be honest, they're not really that exciting in the first place. I suppose I'm just more interested in how men look, most of the time. Since I am one.”
Jurand stared, speechless, not sure if he was imagining the meaning in Leo's words. He certainly had no idea how to respond, especially having never seen a naked woman himself, and his mouth felt very dry.
Leo groaned and slapped a hand over his eyes, sharing in Jurand's awkwardness. "Sorry, I sound like a fucking idiot. Must be the wine, or—"
"No!" Jurand shook his head, swallowing his astonishment. "No, you don't at all, Leo. For what it's worth, you shouldn't listen to Antaup about anything. I know he likes to brag, but half of it is probably made up and the rest is wildly exaggerated. Not everyone feels that way about women at all, believe me."
"Do you?"
"Me?" Jurand was sure his face had turned the colour of his book.
"You're too clever to give it much thought, I'll bet."
Jurand coughed. "I certainly wouldn't call it cleverness…"
"Wait!" Leo's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Don't tell me you've never slept with anyone?"
"Of course I have!" Jurand spluttered. Just no one with a quim.
"Thank the Fates," Leo sighed with relief.
Jurand quirked an eyebrow. "Would you think less of me if I hadn't?"
"Of course not. But I'd think less of the rest of the world."
Jurand's heart thudded hard. He smiled, and Leo grinned, but there was still something uneasy about his expression. For all Leo blamed his mother, Jurand could see the sense of failure written in his best friend's face.
"There's nothing wrong with you, Leo." Jurand said, soft, but firm. He reached out a hand and rested it on Leo's shoulder. "I know sometimes people can make you feel like you need to think a certain way, to be a certain way, but the truth is: you don't, really. Everyone's different. Nobody has the definitive answer to any of it."
Leo looked doubtful. "Not even Stolicus?"
Jurand tapped his chin. “Maybe Stolicus. You might find out, if you ever actually read him."
Leo sighed and wriggled closer, his feet tangling with Jurand's. Jurand folded him into his arms, smelling that woody, soapy scent Leo always had, tinged with sweat, blonde hair tickling his nose as he settled his head against Jurand's shoulder, body heavy and warm as an oven.
"Go on. Read it to me, then," Leo murmured.
"It's a guide on military manoeuvres, Leo, not a bed time story."
Leo yawned. "It's Stolicus. You know nothing sends me to sleep faster than Stolicus."
Jurand laughed. Leo's eyes were closed and he looked like he was already drifting off.
Sure enough, Jurand didn't make it through the second page before he heard Leo's breathing settle into the slow rhythm of sleep. He put the book down and squeezed Leo closer against his chest, dared to press a soft kiss to the crown of his head.
It couldn't be, could it? Surely it was too much to hope that Leo would ever - could ever - return Jurand's feelings? Leo's moods and opinions were always changing, quick as the weather, but for a second it had sounded less like an idle thought and more of a confession. Maybe it was nothing. Fleeting fantasy. But Leo was here, in his arms, in his bed, and that felt like a victory of sorts.
Nine tenths of war is waiting, Stolicus said. Perhaps, thought Jurand, love was the same.
He smiled to himself, slipped his red book onto the bedside table, and blew out the candle.