Fraul, 30

That night, he went back to Fraul. He knew the door would be unlocked and stepped in. Fraul was sleeping on the couch. Raru scooped the book off the coffee table, gently, not wanting to disturb him. He sat in the old chair and propped his boots on the table. Fraul snored and turned over, his hand on his stomach. His face was smooth in sleep.

Raru turned his eyes down to the book. He flipped through it—an atlas—and traced the Ilcoceum’le coastline with his pinky finger. Reading was like that, he thought to himself. Like a map.

He smiled. Leonard made maps better than this. He shook his head and started to put the book down, and Fraul snorted and wiped his face with one palm. Smacking, his eyes blinked open. He turned his head and saw Raru, and gave a smiling yawn.

“Is it nighttime?” he asked, stretching, wincing.

“Almost,” said Raru. Fraul sighed, feeling for the book on the table, and Raru nudged it against his hand. He glanced over, seeing that it was closed. Raru nodded at it and said, “I was just looking. It’s not very accurate, is it?”

Fraul laughed softly, drawing an arm over his eyes and saying, “No, it doesn’t seem to be. Then again, it’s quite a skill to draw an accurate map. Leonard spends many hours doing it.”

Raru nodded, thinking. What had he spent hours doing?

“Sir,” he said slowly. Fraul dropped the arm from his face and fixed him with a receptive look. “What do you think I’m good at?”

“Oh, Raru,” yawned Fraul, letting his eyes rove to the ceiling. He thought for a moment, his brow gently raised. “Well, I think it’s obvious,” he said at last, turning on his side. “What do you think you’re good at?”

“I have my ideas. I just wanted to see if they matched yours.”

“Ah.” Fraul smiled at him. “I think you’re very good at warfare. And in a camp like this that’s saying something. I think it would be a shame for you to be a general. You wouldn’t get to fight like you wish to. You’d be drowning in strategy.”

Raru laughed. “I have no plans of becoming a general,” he said, shaking his head. “But that was my answer, too. I…I’ve always loved to fight.”

“Specifically,” said Fraul delicately, “with a sword. I believe your weakness is that you refuse to fight with your hands.”

“Says the Ilcoceum’le man,” said Raru, reaching over to nudge him in the shoulder. He gave Raru a pursed smile, rolling his eyes.

“I also think,” he went on, “that you have quite the skill with people. You use it for your own ends, of course, in gambling and such. But I have seen you talk Crowe off his ledges.”

Raru was silent, watching the ground, his ankle on his knee. When he looked up, Fraul was watching him, smiling. “What am I good at?” he asked.

“You’re smart,” said Raru. “You’re smart as hell.” His heart filled with gentle love. “That look you get when you fight. It’s such a relief.”

“What did they call it in Ezuran?”

“Berserking.”

Fraul snorted. “Berserking,” he chortled. “It’s supposed to mean anger, yes?”

“Most men…so I’ve heard, they get angry.” Raru looked at his rough hands, taking his boots off the table and bending to unlace them. “But you don’t,” he said to his feet. He cast his eyes up. “What does it feel like?”

“Like…leaving my body. It’s a relief. As you say.” Fraul heaved a long sigh. His eyes were dark. Raru kicked off his boots and sighed, spreading his toes. His feet reeked and he slumped back in the chair and didn’t care. His eyes went to Fraul’s face, who was still watching the table with his head pillowed on his arm. In the gathering dark, he met Raru’s gaze and asked, “Can I say something strange to you?”

“Of course, sir.” Raru remembered his plans and grew nervous. Something in him was afraid that Fraul was about to leave him. He hoped this didn’t show on his face, but Fraul was wrapped in his own thoughts.

“I…” he started, and cleared his throat with his brow furrowed. “It’s hard to say. But I feel somehow…that this berserking, that it is…leaking.”

“Leaking?”

Fraul switched to his native tongue and his words came easier. “The way I leave my body. It happens many times a day now. I feel like stone. There is no sadness. When your father arrived, I wanted to feel happy for you. But I didn’t.” He paused. “I am very happy for you, era, please understand. But I don’t feel it.”

Raru was silent. Fraul tried to catch his gaze and asked, “Have I insulted you?”

“No, no.” Raru rubbed his chin. His eyes flicked up, speaking in Ezuran. “I know how you feel. Kind of.”

“Has this happened to you, this numbness?” Fraul switched back to their shared tongue. He looked genuinely worried. “Do you think something is wrong with me?”

“No,” Raru said.

“But I’m afraid, era. What if it never stops? What if one day, I feel nothing?” He pushed himself up, swinging his feet to the ground, his face creased. “Even if I want to?”

Raru pushed himself to his feet, coming to the couch. “Heath told you that you aren’t allowing yourself to feel anything,” he said, folding his arms around himself, his eyes on Fraul’s knees.

“I can’t afford to. It means death.”

“Well, in a fight, yes.” Raru frowned. He knew this feeling exactly. “But you’re not in a fight. Here, I mean. Maybe you can switch it off.” Raru let his head drop back onto the cushions and Fraul let out a breath. Both sets of eyes closed; Fraul beckoned to his grief.

He thought of Sandrine. Where was she? He thought of his daughter. He hadn’t seen her in days. Did that make him a bad father? He was pretty sure it did. Had he betrayed her mother? None of them needed him here. What had he done, leaving Sandrine? He had been happy–things had been good, and he had uprooted himself and Nathalie and ran away to the army that had killed him. He felt stupid. He felt like a stupid, small man.

He shut himself off and felt the moment when the feelings stopped. He felt relief. And then he felt fear–Raru was right.

“I’m not allowing myself for a reason,” he muttered. Raru opened his eyes; he had been dozing.

“Huh?” he asked.

“I’m not allowing those things to exist. These thoughts. I can’t allow them to exist.”

“Well, that’s fine with me. But you said you were afraid of being numb.”

Fraul heaved a sigh, leaning back on the couch. His eyes met Raru’s. “I’m a stupid man,” he said, and Raru laughed.

“I am, too,” he admitted. “I think they all are, too.” He gestured vaguely toward the camp.

“I think…” Fraul’s voice lowered. “I think that’s why I came back.”

“For a bunch of other men who felt dumb?”

Fraul smiled, and Raru laughed. Suddenly Fraul touched his hair, his cheeks. Raru’s face leaned into the long cool fingers.

“You’re happy,” Fraul observed. His hand hesitated. “Aren’t you?”

“I’m happier than I’ve been…” He hesitated. “For awhile.” Fraul’s hand dropped to his side. His brow creased, squinting, leaning forward.

“Why?” he asked. “Is it your father?”

Raru pressed his lips together. It would be folly to keep it any longer. He tried to word the question.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he said. A good start.

“What?”

Raru reasoned better to risk it now than to allow his hope to exist any longer. He didn’t know how people did this. Was there a ceremony? Fraul was watching him, brow deeply creased, trying to guess what he would say. The room had grown dark and they could barely see each other.

“Well, I…” Raru sighed. “I’ve been thinking about something. I know you…well maybe you’re still married to Sandrine. Aren’t you?”

Fraul leaned back. “I wouldn’t think she sees us as together anymore. I certainly don’t. But in the city records, we are married.” He unfolded his arms and folded them again. “What does this have to do with us?”

“Look, I’ve been thinking about this a lot.” Raru was gaining momentum. “And there’s no pressure. You can say no.” He watched the aurora of emotions on Fraul’s face, guessing and second-guessing what he would ask. Raru laughed at himself, hand on the back of his neck, and asked, “Do you want to get married?”

Then he sealed his lips–he could say no more. He had dreaded this silence and he flicked his gaze away, afraid to see Fraul’s face.

The lines had deepened around Fraul’s mouth. He looked at Raru, who couldn’t help but look back.

“You’re sober,” Fraul said, and it was not a question, but Raru nodded anyway. The other man frowned. “And you still want to marry me?”

“Don’t make me sit here, please don’t make me sit here.”

“Look, I’m just–how could anyone want–why would you…” Fraul huffed. Raru had rarely seen him at a loss for words, in either language. He rubbed his arms as if cold and muttered, “There are people better for you than me.”

“Come on, Fraul. You don’t have to make up all these reasons. Just say no.”

Raru was heartened by the swift look which Fraul flung at him. “No–I mean–no, I do not wish to say no.” He looked like a hooked fish, helpless and a little panicked. Subconsciously he pressed into Raru’s side and rubbed his knees, muttering to himself. Raru understood that this was not a refusal; some part of him knew that it was a good sign, however much he wanted an immediate and painless yes. He frowned, opening an arm like a wing, and Fraul burrowed under it and held his forehead in his hands.

“You’re going to find someone else,” he said. “Someone less difficult.”

Raru snorted. “You’re going to find someone who can read.”

Fraul, the barest smile in his voice, peeked up at him and breathed, “You’ll find someone you don’t have to hide.”

“Maybe I will.” Raru was grinning. Fraul unfurled with a long sigh and the younger man put both arms around him, saying, “But can we be married while I do it?”

“All right, good lord, era. Do you want it in writing?”

“Yes, I want it in writing.”

“Then–look, look.” Fraul grabbed a pencil which he used for annotations and flipped open the atlas, writing in large letters the Ilcoceum’le word for yes. Then, below it, he wrote the word in Ezuran. Raru grinned–he couldn’t read either of them.

“Is that a yes?” he asked. Fraul rolled his eyes and tossed the pencil overhand at him. Raru blocked it, waiting, until he sighed, “Yes.”

“Then it’s binding.” Raru's face grew somber and he shuffled himself to face the other man. “Really, though. Do you mean it?”

“I still think you’re going to regret it. But as this is the second time you’ve brought it up to me…I suppose you mean it.”

“You’ll marry me?”

“Yes, Raru, honestly.” Fraul’s face was bright and childish, and Raru put their noses close.

“Fuck,” he swore as he turned away, looking skyward. “That was so difficult.”

“I never thought I would get a proposal,” said Fraul softly. “It is much better on this end.”

Raru let his head fall to Fraul’s shoulder. He muttered, “I already have a plan.”

“Do you?” Fraul breathed, but his voice was absent. Raru lifted his head.

“How are you doing?” he asked. “You don’t seem well. I didn’t want to ask yet, but it…well, it came up.”

“I’m all right, I…” Fraul rubbed his eyes. “I feel awful, darling. I feel sick and hot and I just want it to be gone. The poppy did not help. I was a fool, to use it so quickly.” His hand thudded dully into the floor. “I haven’t been able to forget it yet.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Raru asked.

“Oh, I don’t know, love.”

Raru slipped his arms beneath Fraul, gathered the other man to his chest and straightened up without even a grunt. He went to the bedside and put him down, snuggled up against him. His hands roved Fraul’s torso, beneath his shirt, around his waist. He kicked off his boots without looking down and kept his weight light as he rolled on top of Fraul and kissed him.

Fraul’s skin was hot, and the grasp of his hands a little weak. Raru rolled off him–a relief, since he was burning up and the night was warm already–and held his hand.

Raru slept there, relief coursing through him. He was happy. He was so damned happy. He lay awake smiling in the dark, fitting his face between Fraul’s shoulder and collarbone.