It feels weird to be looking for Bastien in an office. In his office.
Surely his "office" should be a street-side cafe table where he jokingly invites people to step into his office to discuss business. That feels more appropriate. Regardless, Athessa knocks on the door and peeks in through the door, looking for him.
"Baz?" She likely looks a bit conspicuous carrying what's obviously a mage staff, wrapped in cloth. Perhaps he'll recognize it without her needing to unwrap it. He was with her when she found it, after all.
Surely his "office" should be a street-side cafe table where he jokingly invites people to step into his office to discuss business. That feels more appropriate. Regardless, Athessa knocks on the door and peeks in through the door, looking for him.
"Baz?" She likely looks a bit conspicuous carrying what's obviously a mage staff, wrapped in cloth. Perhaps he'll recognize it without her needing to unwrap it. He was with her when she found it, after all.
"Athessa," Bastien echoes, looking up from the desk—which he'd fully agree doesn't suit him, and in fact would say is a travesty and a crime against his person—and its scattered papers.
He recognizes the staff. He also doesn't really look at it. That's what peripheral vision is for. He puts his hand in his chin on the table and smiles at her, in the cautious way of a man who expects something to be wrong but wants to be pleasant in the meantime.
He recognizes the staff. He also doesn't really look at it. That's what peripheral vision is for. He puts his hand in his chin on the table and smiles at her, in the cautious way of a man who expects something to be wrong but wants to be pleasant in the meantime.
"Baz," Athessa echoes his echo, and carries the staff to his desk. Out of the kindness of her heart she doesn't set it on the desk, considering all the papers and whatnot scattered about.
"I decided...maybe we can use this as a more portable show of good will to a Dalish clan, if we need to."
She props it against the edge of the table, catches it when it starts to slide, re-props, re-catches, and on the third try gets it to behave properly. There.
"I decided...maybe we can use this as a more portable show of good will to a Dalish clan, if we need to."
She props it against the edge of the table, catches it when it starts to slide, re-props, re-catches, and on the third try gets it to behave properly. There.
He can immediately think of one reason he doesn't like that idea. But perhaps it isn't a good reason. Perhaps it's patronizing and unlikely to happen.
"Oh?"
He leans in his seat to look at it, for all the good it does.
"Wasn't it your—grandmother's? Right?"
"Oh?"
He leans in his seat to look at it, for all the good it does.
"Wasn't it your—grandmother's? Right?"
Her face takes a break from being on the tired-and-bummed side of neutral to pull towards peeved. Bastien is going to gently pry until he gets to the heart of the matter, or until she tells him to stop, and both options seem equally sigh-worthy.
"I wanted it to be used by a healer," she corrects. "But Colin and Derrica both said it's too much to accept."
"I wanted it to be used by a healer," she corrects. "But Colin and Derrica both said it's too much to accept."
It might have hurt his feelings, that look, if he weren't fairly good at deciding other people's moods weren't actually about him. But he is, so it doesn't.
Still, he gives a tight, rueful little smile and nods without lifting his head from his hand.
"D'accord," he says. "We can keep it here if you like, and when we reach out to them, we can talk about it again. I wouldn't want them to think we were carrying a stolen staff, but if you are going along you can explain."
Still, he gives a tight, rueful little smile and nods without lifting his head from his hand.
"D'accord," he says. "We can keep it here if you like, and when we reach out to them, we can talk about it again. I wouldn't want them to think we were carrying a stolen staff, but if you are going along you can explain."
"Sure, yeah. I figure if I'm not on a mission whenever that happens, I'll be going along. I am the resident Dalish, after all." She forgoes saying beggars can't be choosers because there's only so much self-deprecation she can put her friends through before even she gets sick of hearing it.
“I would not want to do it without you.”
He stands up and picks up the wrapped staff to consider it. Seems a shame to tuck it in a cabinet, but leaving it out where someone might easily wander off with it isn’t good, either.
Idly—and not because he wouldn’t like to ask more about the staff or about Derrica and Colin—he asks, “Have you learned enough Orlesian to know why I call you Fauvette?” He holds up a staying finger. “If you know it means a songbird, you are only halfway there.”
He stands up and picks up the wrapped staff to consider it. Seems a shame to tuck it in a cabinet, but leaving it out where someone might easily wander off with it isn’t good, either.
Idly—and not because he wouldn’t like to ask more about the staff or about Derrica and Colin—he asks, “Have you learned enough Orlesian to know why I call you Fauvette?” He holds up a staying finger. “If you know it means a songbird, you are only halfway there.”
There are a few reasons he could call her that. Her singing voice and her clan name are the most obvious reasons. That she is forthright with most information could be another. She certainly didn't do a very good job hiding that she was learning the language.
"I guess I halfway know why, then."
"I guess I halfway know why, then."
“Fauve means tawny—so I almost decided it was a bad idea, you know. But from it we have les fauvettes, our wild songbirds, and we also have les fauves. Wild cats. Not quite so little.”
He carries the staff to the armoire against the back wall, voice raising to carry back over his shoulder while he puts it away.
“And from that, sometimes we say fauve to just mean wild or fierce.”
Heading back to the desk, he ignores his chair and sits on the edge of it instead, closer to her. Who likes talking across a desk? Terrible.
“When you translate it to Trade, you lose that. Songbird, warbler. Sweet little things. But in Orlesian, the word has some teeth. A songbird,” in conclusion, “that you do not want to fuck with.”
He carries the staff to the armoire against the back wall, voice raising to carry back over his shoulder while he puts it away.
“And from that, sometimes we say fauve to just mean wild or fierce.”
Heading back to the desk, he ignores his chair and sits on the edge of it instead, closer to her. Who likes talking across a desk? Terrible.
“When you translate it to Trade, you lose that. Songbird, warbler. Sweet little things. But in Orlesian, the word has some teeth. A songbird,” in conclusion, “that you do not want to fuck with.”
"Those bandits you didn't even need saving from?"
That was before she knew he was a Bard, not that much has really changed since then. She'd still leap to save him, no matter how capable he is.
"Do you? It's hardly anything new," she sighs, but she does take his hand. Maybe she ought to tell Bastien more about Colin. Maybe she ought to tell him she kissed Derrica. Maybe she shouldn't say anything and should let him take a break from being the person she goes to for advice all the time.
That was before she knew he was a Bard, not that much has really changed since then. She'd still leap to save him, no matter how capable he is.
"Do you? It's hardly anything new," she sighs, but she does take his hand. Maybe she ought to tell Bastien more about Colin. Maybe she ought to tell him she kissed Derrica. Maybe she shouldn't say anything and should let him take a break from being the person she goes to for advice all the time.
Bastien shrugs at the first part, with a half-smile that dimples his cheek particularly well. He is innocent and blameless, and so on and so forth, and saving is still saving.
"I want to talk about anything you want to talk about," he says, lifting her hand to examine her knuckles as if they need to pass inspection. "If you don't want to tell me what is bothering you, you can tell me what you had for breakfast. I'll be captivated."
"I want to talk about anything you want to talk about," he says, lifting her hand to examine her knuckles as if they need to pass inspection. "If you don't want to tell me what is bothering you, you can tell me what you had for breakfast. I'll be captivated."
Her knuckles, as ever, are lightly bruised and scraped but otherwise intact, as one would expect from someone who often punches training dummies, enemies, and walls. (Not so much the latter of late, per Colin's request.)
"No you won't," she counters, light-hearted. "I didn't have breakfast."
Athessa sighs and wiggles her fingers within his grasp before asking, "How are things with you and Byerly?"
"No you won't," she counters, light-hearted. "I didn't have breakfast."
Athessa sighs and wiggles her fingers within his grasp before asking, "How are things with you and Byerly?"
Bastien's mouth rounds into an astonished O, captivated by her meal-skipping, but at the question it shifts into a smile that's small and bashful. And unguarded. A rare thing, here equally attributable to the subject matter and the fact that it's Athessa asking, with no one else to see.
"Good." He looks back down at her knuckles, taps his thumb against one of the more faded bruises, turns her hand over to consider her palm instead. Then he glances back up to rescue himself from being too much of a dweeb by doing a second draft of the response: wiggled eyebrows and a more ridiculously purred, "Très bien. I took my own advice and talked to him about some things—can you believe it? A human man, practicing what he preaches. I deserve a medal."
"Good." He looks back down at her knuckles, taps his thumb against one of the more faded bruises, turns her hand over to consider her palm instead. Then he glances back up to rescue himself from being too much of a dweeb by doing a second draft of the response: wiggled eyebrows and a more ridiculously purred, "Très bien. I took my own advice and talked to him about some things—can you believe it? A human man, practicing what he preaches. I deserve a medal."
Now it's her turn to gape at him, captivated by his good fortune. The face might be an exaggeration, but her delight is genuine, and Bastien's bashful smile was worth all the guilt she's felt about meddling. She'd take it up as a hobby if it guaranteed more of those smiles.
"I'll make one for you right away. It's an unprecedented feat, surely."
Are you only very clever when it comes to other people? Vanadi had asked her. Seems like a common thing.
"Whatcha lookin' at?" she says, and tips her head to look at her palm, wondering what he's reading there.
"I'll make one for you right away. It's an unprecedented feat, surely."
Are you only very clever when it comes to other people? Vanadi had asked her. Seems like a common thing.
"Whatcha lookin' at?" she says, and tips her head to look at her palm, wondering what he's reading there.
“Ah, well,” Bastien says, tilting her hand so she can see it better while he points things out, “this line—it means you will accumulate many animal companions during your lifetime. And this one means you will be very loved, even if it does not always feel like it. This long one means you will feel better if you talk about things instead of letting them eat away at you. And these little ones? They mean you need to come dancing with me soon.”
He leans forward so he can show her her hand closer-up.
“See? They are very specific—there is no line that means Bastien, of course, that would be ridiculous. But mustached... Orlesian... friend. Very clear.”
He leans forward so he can show her her hand closer-up.
“See? They are very specific—there is no line that means Bastien, of course, that would be ridiculous. But mustached... Orlesian... friend. Very clear.”
"Oh, wow," Athessa looks at her palm as if truly awed by what she sees there. "Actually, it does say Bastien. See? aright there."
She holds her hand up in front of his face, then uses it to gently paw his face away.
"Don't you ever get tired of it?"
She holds her hand up in front of his face, then uses it to gently paw his face away.
"Don't you ever get tired of it?"
"Usually when kissing a girl goes well, she doesn't stop you and leave."
She tries to skew her expression wry and fails, landing closer to pained. Athessa can't even blame Derrica for stopping her; she was high, over-emotional, exhausted, not thinking straight.
But it still hurts.
"It was a stupid impulse and now..." A shrug. A helpless gesture. "I'm afraid I've ruined everything."
She tries to skew her expression wry and fails, landing closer to pained. Athessa can't even blame Derrica for stopping her; she was high, over-emotional, exhausted, not thinking straight.
But it still hurts.
"It was a stupid impulse and now..." A shrug. A helpless gesture. "I'm afraid I've ruined everything."
"Nothing is ever ruined," Bastien says.
He said the same thing to Alexandrie, not long ago, when she was leaving for Antiva.
"It is repaired or it becomes something new. Maybe not what you hoped it would be at first, but..." He shrugs, and falters a little—another rare thing—and says, "I was in love with my friend for a long time. Vincent. I wanted it so badly, I held onto everything that gave me hope and explained everything that should have made me realize he was never going to—"
A grimacing little smile, in lieu of words.
"I don't want you to be doing this to yourself years from now, chérie."
He said the same thing to Alexandrie, not long ago, when she was leaving for Antiva.
"It is repaired or it becomes something new. Maybe not what you hoped it would be at first, but..." He shrugs, and falters a little—another rare thing—and says, "I was in love with my friend for a long time. Vincent. I wanted it so badly, I held onto everything that gave me hope and explained everything that should have made me realize he was never going to—"
A grimacing little smile, in lieu of words.
"I don't want you to be doing this to yourself years from now, chérie."
Athessa gives her own little grimace at the thought of being like this for years to come, regardless of how many others find their way into her heart. A mess in perpetuity.
"How did you stop pining after Vincent?" She thinks she knows the answer, but part of the reason she's in this mess of misery is because she doesn't want to leave, and doesn't want Derrica to resort to that, either.
"How did you stop pining after Vincent?" She thinks she knows the answer, but part of the reason she's in this mess of misery is because she doesn't want to leave, and doesn't want Derrica to resort to that, either.
"I didn't, for a while. Even after he said no in a way I couldn't reason my way around. We were friends. I had dinner with his family every few weeks—his children liked me."
He holds a hand down, lower than the edge of the desk, to indicate how small they were at the time.
"And I kept wanting it. But I stopped believing I could make it happen if I found the right combination of things to say and do. It wasn't good, but it was better."
He holds a hand down, lower than the edge of the desk, to indicate how small they were at the time.
"And I kept wanting it. But I stopped believing I could make it happen if I found the right combination of things to say and do. It wasn't good, but it was better."
"Did you ever feel like he was avoiding you or only being your friend out of pity?"
Maybe that's a bit too specific to her situation to apply to Baz and Vincent, but it wouldn't be the only difference between her relationship with Derrica and his with Vincent. For one, Derrica isn't about to marry someone and have children that Athessa will have to entertain like some kind of weird unrelated auntie.
Maybe that's a bit too specific to her situation to apply to Baz and Vincent, but it wouldn't be the only difference between her relationship with Derrica and his with Vincent. For one, Derrica isn't about to marry someone and have children that Athessa will have to entertain like some kind of weird unrelated auntie.
"No," he says, then shakes his head, and looks sorry. "No, but we did not have to live in the same building or work together. By then he did not even live in the city. He had to invite me or come see me on purpose."
A very different situation.
"But I would be very surprised if she was only your friend out of pity. She might feel like she is hurting you and feel sorry about it, but not is not the same thing as befriending someone out of pity."
A very different situation.
"But I would be very surprised if she was only your friend out of pity. She might feel like she is hurting you and feel sorry about it, but not is not the same thing as befriending someone out of pity."
A sigh deflates her slightly, makes her smaller than she already is, and she sets talk of pity aside for now. She looks at her hand, at the lines Bastien traced, the same lines Derrica had traced many times before while they sat and they talked and they knew nothing of the mess they'd find themselves in mere months later. Fingers curl into a loose fist and her hand drops to her lap.
"We said we wouldn't avoid each other," she says, unsure whether it's a defense or an indictment. "She said she was sorry for doing that to me, and we agreed, back at the start, that we wouldn't do that again. She said she had to do better, to try to figure out what's best for us, but—"
But that was months ago. That was after Churneau, and since then how much effort has been spent on trying to find where they fit in each other's lives? Athessa has been trying and failing to ignore the way she feels about Derrica, trying and failing to be a good friend, to leave off any compliments or topics that stray too close to flirtation or memories of what they used to do to pass the time together.
Athessa sniffs, but doesn't allow herself to cry any more tears over this. Not now.
"—It feels like this isn't as important to her as it is to me."
Translation: It doesn't feel like I'm as important to her as she is to me.
"We said we wouldn't avoid each other," she says, unsure whether it's a defense or an indictment. "She said she was sorry for doing that to me, and we agreed, back at the start, that we wouldn't do that again. She said she had to do better, to try to figure out what's best for us, but—"
But that was months ago. That was after Churneau, and since then how much effort has been spent on trying to find where they fit in each other's lives? Athessa has been trying and failing to ignore the way she feels about Derrica, trying and failing to be a good friend, to leave off any compliments or topics that stray too close to flirtation or memories of what they used to do to pass the time together.
Athessa sniffs, but doesn't allow herself to cry any more tears over this. Not now.
"—It feels like this isn't as important to her as it is to me."
Translation: It doesn't feel like I'm as important to her as she is to me.
He could tell her what he thinks she'd like to hear. It's easier. And people are rarely angry with you for giving them bad advice if it's the advice they wanted. If he loved her less, he would.
But he doesn't love her less, so he slides off the desk and holds his hand out to her again. This time to pull her up, if she'll let him. There's no good way to hug someone sitting in a chair.
"It might not be," he says. "It's—fucking miserable—" Like she said to him, after Vincent died. "—but sometimes that is how things go."
But he doesn't love her less, so he slides off the desk and holds his hand out to her again. This time to pull her up, if she'll let him. There's no good way to hug someone sitting in a chair.
"It might not be," he says. "It's—fucking miserable—" Like she said to him, after Vincent died. "—but sometimes that is how things go."
Fucking miserable is right. Athessa will let herself be pulled to standing, posture loose, gaze settled low and her features cast in quiet misery and resign.
"I hate it," she says, though her tone doesn't begin to sound as petulant as the words themselves might otherwise be. It wouldn't be unreasonable to expect It's not fair to be the next thing she says.
"I hate how much it hurts and how hard it is to let go."
"I hate it," she says, though her tone doesn't begin to sound as petulant as the words themselves might otherwise be. It wouldn't be unreasonable to expect It's not fair to be the next thing she says.
"I hate how much it hurts and how hard it is to let go."
"Oh, you will be."
Her limp-armed leaning is fine. He keeps his arms around her shoulders and rocks side to side, just a bit, in the faint suggestion of a dance. A slow and sad one.
"Not all the time. No one is happy all the time. And maybe not today or tomorrow, because you're hurt and sometimes you have to feel it. But after that. A little bit at a time, more and more. You'll see."
Her limp-armed leaning is fine. He keeps his arms around her shoulders and rocks side to side, just a bit, in the faint suggestion of a dance. A slow and sad one.
"Not all the time. No one is happy all the time. And maybe not today or tomorrow, because you're hurt and sometimes you have to feel it. But after that. A little bit at a time, more and more. You'll see."
Athessa grumbles. Not words, just general sounds of displeasure at being displeased. She grumbles and she leans and heaves a great sigh.
"Somebody ought to outlaw feeling like this," she says, muffled by his shirt until she turns her head to speak into open air. "At least then I could pretend to be roguish instead of a disaster."
"Somebody ought to outlaw feeling like this," she says, muffled by his shirt until she turns her head to speak into open air. "At least then I could pretend to be roguish instead of a disaster."
Left on Bastien's desk, a book of Marcher folk tales following the adventures of a mischievous traveling musician. Each new story is prefaced with a boldly-sketched illustration. A folded piece of parchment set inside the front cover, bearing an unsigned, scribbly note.
This book came into my possession, and I thought you might enjoy it.
Edited 2021-01-09 07:05 (UTC)
The book inspires some brief paranoia and a handwriting-comparison investigation, but the latter solves the former. Mostly. Enough to return the paranoia to its usual level of white noise.
He respects the unsigned nature of the note by not responding straight away. But a few days later, when Ellis crosses through the dining hall while Bastien's tucked near the fireplace with the half-finished book, he looks up from it long enough to smile and mouth thank you.
He respects the unsigned nature of the note by not responding straight away. But a few days later, when Ellis crosses through the dining hall while Bastien's tucked near the fireplace with the half-finished book, he looks up from it long enough to smile and mouth thank you.
The silent gratitude is acknowledged, but Ellis doesn't opt to join him at the fireside. There is no expectation for anything more than the small confirmation that his instinct had been correct and the stories are at least an enjoyable diversion.
Some days later, a pamphlet appears wedged between writing implements on Bastien's desk. It's slightly crinkled, but presentable, imparting a brief, light comedy about a trio of Fereldan fisherman towed to Llomerryn by a Cetus in their little fishing boat and the subsequent haggle to get themselves passage back via pirate ship. In the margin—
Some days later, a pamphlet appears wedged between writing implements on Bastien's desk. It's slightly crinkled, but presentable, imparting a brief, light comedy about a trio of Fereldan fisherman towed to Llomerryn by a Cetus in their little fishing boat and the subsequent haggle to get themselves passage back via pirate ship. In the margin—
In case you've finished with the book already.
Bastien reads it twice and laughs at different parts each time.
A day later he browses a bookstand with an eye out for something that shouts, I would make an excellent gift for a reticent Grey Warden who's very kind to his friends and a better dancer than expected. He spends some time staring at an Orlesian-authored introduction to Fereldan fashion, wondering if its tone might be funny or only insulting, and ultimately leaves it in the pile.
So when he sits down across from Ellis at breakfast, it's empty handed save for his bowl of porridge. Bastien considers him in smiling silence for a moment—another form of thank you—then asks, "Do you read a lot, Warden?"
A day later he browses a bookstand with an eye out for something that shouts, I would make an excellent gift for a reticent Grey Warden who's very kind to his friends and a better dancer than expected. He spends some time staring at an Orlesian-authored introduction to Fereldan fashion, wondering if its tone might be funny or only insulting, and ultimately leaves it in the pile.
So when he sits down across from Ellis at breakfast, it's empty handed save for his bowl of porridge. Bastien considers him in smiling silence for a moment—another form of thank you—then asks, "Do you read a lot, Warden?"
A beat of stillness, Ellis' eyebrows raising at the appearance of Bastien. He'd folded scrambled eggs into a piece of toast, but now seems to hesitate over raising it to his mouth.
"I do," he answers. The toast hovers, and then returns to his plate, before Ellis continues, "Did you like the pamphlet?"
"I do," he answers. The toast hovers, and then returns to his plate, before Ellis continues, "Did you like the pamphlet?"
Bastien doesn't look at the toast, interrupted; he only nods with slightly-sleepy-eyed enthusiasm and begins recounting his favorite parts. This amounts in practice to an abbreviated retelling of the entire story, with a few Orlesian mispronunciations of Fereldan names and places along the way.
"—and I am glad Angus came out of it with the gold," he says at the end. "When the other two tried to trade him to the pirates behind his back? Poor fellow, not even knowing how terrible his friends are."
He's been gesturing, in a subdued sort of way, with a spoonful of porridge. When he touches it to his mouth, the waving-around has made that lump predictably cold, so he recoils a little and drops it back into the bowl.
"Do you know if it is an old story someone copied down? Or something new?"
"—and I am glad Angus came out of it with the gold," he says at the end. "When the other two tried to trade him to the pirates behind his back? Poor fellow, not even knowing how terrible his friends are."
He's been gesturing, in a subdued sort of way, with a spoonful of porridge. When he touches it to his mouth, the waving-around has made that lump predictably cold, so he recoils a little and drops it back into the bowl.
"Do you know if it is an old story someone copied down? Or something new?"
There's some commonality between Bastien's approach here and the way Wysteria enters a conversation that Ellis will find a little funny after the fact. And, mispronunciations aside, Ellis is quietly pleased that Bastien enjoyed the story. The book had felt like a gamble, and so had the pamphlet. It had been difficult to tell if Bastien cared very much for books at all.
"It's new to me," Ellis answers, turning his plate to silently offer the second, untouched piece of toast to Bastien. Possibly also cooled by now, but potentially less objectionable than cool porridge. "I haven't spent enough time in Fereldan towns to know exactly what's being recited these days."
The urge to ask isn't there someone else you'd rather eat breakfast with? hasn't fully passed, but it strikes Ellis as rude enough that he refrains from asking.
Instead, diplomatically: "How does it compare to the stories that come out of Orlais?"
"It's new to me," Ellis answers, turning his plate to silently offer the second, untouched piece of toast to Bastien. Possibly also cooled by now, but potentially less objectionable than cool porridge. "I haven't spent enough time in Fereldan towns to know exactly what's being recited these days."
The urge to ask isn't there someone else you'd rather eat breakfast with? hasn't fully passed, but it strikes Ellis as rude enough that he refrains from asking.
Instead, diplomatically: "How does it compare to the stories that come out of Orlais?"
How strange and entirely accidental, that Bastien’s approach might somehow echo that of a known successful Ellis-befriender.
He considers the toast for a moment, so tempted he leans forward a few degrees in preparation for moving his arm to take it. But then he shakes his head. A fellow with Ellis’ shoulders surely needs all of his own food. And once Bastien swaps his cooled spoonful for porridge fresh from the bowl, it isn’t so cold.
“I think... in Orlais the same story would have been written so the Cetus was not a freak accident. Someone would have insulted it first, so it dragged them away on purpose, or one of them would have wanted to hitch a ride to see where it lived. We do not have many popular stories about things happening to people just because sometimes things happen—unless someone has set out to make that point, and then they have to make it five times in the same story to make sure we notice.“
He hasn’t eaten his new slightly-warmer spoonful of breakfast yet, and he isn’t actually trying to go hungry for a comedy bit, so he does that now.
He considers the toast for a moment, so tempted he leans forward a few degrees in preparation for moving his arm to take it. But then he shakes his head. A fellow with Ellis’ shoulders surely needs all of his own food. And once Bastien swaps his cooled spoonful for porridge fresh from the bowl, it isn’t so cold.
“I think... in Orlais the same story would have been written so the Cetus was not a freak accident. Someone would have insulted it first, so it dragged them away on purpose, or one of them would have wanted to hitch a ride to see where it lived. We do not have many popular stories about things happening to people just because sometimes things happen—unless someone has set out to make that point, and then they have to make it five times in the same story to make sure we notice.“
He hasn’t eaten his new slightly-warmer spoonful of breakfast yet, and he isn’t actually trying to go hungry for a comedy bit, so he does that now.
Edited 2021-02-11 14:02 (UTC)
A minor delay in Ellis' answer, as he did not time his two bites of toast properly. This is more or less the scenario he was trying to avoid, even without a real grasp on whether or not Bastien cares very much about etiquette during a meal.
"If you ever come across a good example of it, I'd like to read it," is the reply Ellis offers up after chewing and swallowing. It's not much of an answer, but the interest is sincere, even if Ellis follows it with—
"You don't need to feel obligated to do this. Spend your breakfast with me."
Just in case Bastien feels somehow beholden.
"If you ever come across a good example of it, I'd like to read it," is the reply Ellis offers up after chewing and swallowing. It's not much of an answer, but the interest is sincere, even if Ellis follows it with—
"You don't need to feel obligated to do this. Spend your breakfast with me."
Just in case Bastien feels somehow beholden.
Bastien’s eyebrows go up first, like he needs a moment to process that, and then a smile follows behind while he swallows his mouthful.
“Reparations for the occupation,” he suggests in a thickened accent. Somehow his face looks more Orlesian too—the angle of his head, a tension in his eyebrows. It falls away when he shakes his head. “No. I’m grateful, but if I felt obliged, I would just buy you a nice candleholder. But if I’m bothering you—?”
“Reparations for the occupation,” he suggests in a thickened accent. Somehow his face looks more Orlesian too—the angle of his head, a tension in his eyebrows. It falls away when he shakes his head. “No. I’m grateful, but if I felt obliged, I would just buy you a nice candleholder. But if I’m bothering you—?”
"No," is truthful, even amidst lingering, prickling anxiety. This conversation is a little like trying to navigate in the dark, but Ellis hasn't felt the need to escape it. Though that might not carry as much weight as it should, considering Ellis' near infinite patience.
"This is better than a candleholder. I wouldn't know what to do with one."
A small quirk of Ellis' mouth, almost a smile. Some unspoken joke about Ferelden is lingering in the space at the end of that sentence.
"I'd like to read something you enjoyed. If you have a favorite."
"This is better than a candleholder. I wouldn't know what to do with one."
A small quirk of Ellis' mouth, almost a smile. Some unspoken joke about Ferelden is lingering in the space at the end of that sentence.
"I'd like to read something you enjoyed. If you have a favorite."
Bastien nods, spoons up more porridge, contemplates Ellis' face for a moment, and says, "Pick a number between one and five." The porridge is nearly to his mouth before he amends, "Including one or five. Not only the numbers between them."
Then the porridge goes in.
Then the porridge goes in.
Whaddya reckon?
[ They're out and about in some town or another; maybe it's Kirkwall, maybe they're on assignment in some sleepy little snow-dusted hamlet between there and wherever, but the location doesn't matter. The game is the same. They pick a person and tail them for a short while, volleying guesses about who they are, what their story is, what they're doing and why, and if they're incredibly lucky they might find the answers along the way.
More often they're left with more questions or a loss of interest. ]
I still say she's too twitchy to be waiting for a date. Maybe she's paying someone off?
[ They're out and about in some town or another; maybe it's Kirkwall, maybe they're on assignment in some sleepy little snow-dusted hamlet between there and wherever, but the location doesn't matter. The game is the same. They pick a person and tail them for a short while, volleying guesses about who they are, what their story is, what they're doing and why, and if they're incredibly lucky they might find the answers along the way.
More often they're left with more questions or a loss of interest. ]
I still say she's too twitchy to be waiting for a date. Maybe she's paying someone off?
[ Athessa fidgets with her own drink, pivoting it this way and that against the table's surface. She's just sitting here chatting with her friend, that's all. Not even looking at that woman. ]
Her clothes are nice, but kinda outdated, aren't they? Maybe she's in debt and keeping up appearances. Could be that she's paying a collector. [ That makes her think of another angle, but... ]
If she were prominent enough a figure that her son could be ransomed we'd probably know her somehow, wouldn't we?
Her clothes are nice, but kinda outdated, aren't they? Maybe she's in debt and keeping up appearances. Could be that she's paying a collector. [ That makes her think of another angle, but... ]
If she were prominent enough a figure that her son could be ransomed we'd probably know her somehow, wouldn't we?
(post this whole kerfuffle)
[ Later in the day— ]
I want to apologize. For any discomfort I caused you. And for...
[ It's halting, but not begrudging. More like she's trying to pull the words out as if they're a blade lodged in her that has to come out before the wound can be dressed, but knowing that doesn't make it hurt any less.
She takes a breath and starts again, somewhere else. ]
Despite my desire to have this not be so, I believe... it will be some time before I am able to be present with the two of you together if I am to refrain from doing... that. And since I do not wish to ruin the potential for your being affectionately ambushed whilst working, perhaps it... would be for the best if I were to return to the library for my own.
[ Later in the day— ]
I want to apologize. For any discomfort I caused you. And for...
[ It's halting, but not begrudging. More like she's trying to pull the words out as if they're a blade lodged in her that has to come out before the wound can be dressed, but knowing that doesn't make it hurt any less.
She takes a breath and starts again, somewhere else. ]
Despite my desire to have this not be so, I believe... it will be some time before I am able to be present with the two of you together if I am to refrain from doing... that. And since I do not wish to ruin the potential for your being affectionately ambushed whilst working, perhaps it... would be for the best if I were to return to the library for my own.
[ In the intervening hours, Bastien has become fine, the way he would be fine nearly anywhere with nearly anything. Putting a fistful of flowers on the shelf in a dingier-than-hoped-for tenement and saying there, that’s better—that sort of fine. There’s a pause, while he digests all of that, but then he sounds as conversational as if they were discussing the weather: ]
If that’s more comfortable for you, of course, but I—
[ But he’d miss her company. But it’d hamper his search for some solid sense of connection that doesn’t first thread through another person.
He exhales. ]
We could banish him. Would it bother you if I went up to see him, if you could guess that was where I was going?
[ The last few words lose some of their surefooted pleasantness as he wonders if it would bother him. If seeing her go out the door and knowing Byerly was off-limits until she reappeared—and knowing every minute he spent with him himself was a minute she couldn’t—might make him keep count of the waking hours in a way he hasn’t felt any need to do with the nights.
He hopes not. But he wonders. ]
If that’s more comfortable for you, of course, but I—
[ But he’d miss her company. But it’d hamper his search for some solid sense of connection that doesn’t first thread through another person.
He exhales. ]
We could banish him. Would it bother you if I went up to see him, if you could guess that was where I was going?
[ The last few words lose some of their surefooted pleasantness as he wonders if it would bother him. If seeing her go out the door and knowing Byerly was off-limits until she reappeared—and knowing every minute he spent with him himself was a minute she couldn’t—might make him keep count of the waking hours in a way he hasn’t felt any need to do with the nights.
He hopes not. But he wonders. ]
[ It’s not what she expects; kindness, when she knows she has done something awful. She does not expect to be reached for, to be wanted. She has been gone from court for nearly three years now, but she steeped in its venom so long her bones still believe that any misstep is her last.
And then it isn’t. No-one has abandoned her. No-one betrays her. No-one takes vengeance. No-one is snide, or cruel, or cold to her. She stands like a deer who does not know to run, open and soft and vulnerable, and no-one shoots.
It will be a few minutes before she replies, because she is calming herself so she does not cry again, but then she returns. ]
No. No. It should not bother me even if I did not need to guess because you have said “good-bye Alexandrie, I am going upstairs to be very tender with Byerly now and I expect he will be very tender with me and then we will kiss each other on every surface of the office including the ceiling.”
It only hurts to see it. It is only that I cannot see him turn to you in a way he does not turn to me without making a spectacle of myself.
And then it isn’t. No-one has abandoned her. No-one betrays her. No-one takes vengeance. No-one is snide, or cruel, or cold to her. She stands like a deer who does not know to run, open and soft and vulnerable, and no-one shoots.
It will be a few minutes before she replies, because she is calming herself so she does not cry again, but then she returns. ]
No. No. It should not bother me even if I did not need to guess because you have said “good-bye Alexandrie, I am going upstairs to be very tender with Byerly now and I expect he will be very tender with me and then we will kiss each other on every surface of the office including the ceiling.”
It only hurts to see it. It is only that I cannot see him turn to you in a way he does not turn to me without making a spectacle of myself.
[ In her minutes of silence, unable to see her face, he’d wondered if he said something wrong, and narrowed down to his last sentence as the likely culprit—that or his lack of concern coming across as flippant, perhaps that’s it—and started thinking through an apology, something gentle and concerned that doesn’t have anything to do with him going off to see Byerly without her—
But then she’s back, and he’s relieved, and he makes a doubtful little humming noise at spectacle and offers her that metaphorical fistful of flowers off the shelf. ]
You know, I think it would be stranger if we could do something like that without a hitch. Can you imagine— [ with all warmth and affection ] —how Byerly would behave if you invited your husband up for breakfast?
But then she’s back, and he’s relieved, and he makes a doubtful little humming noise at spectacle and offers her that metaphorical fistful of flowers off the shelf. ]
You know, I think it would be stranger if we could do something like that without a hitch. Can you imagine— [ with all warmth and affection ] —how Byerly would behave if you invited your husband up for breakfast?
[ A twinge, to think of something so simple as breakfast with her husband. A morning. The softness of his face in sleep, the clever sharpness after coffee, the space between them that is hers.
She shakes her head a little, comes back, is warm too. ]
I should like to witness it, so that I do not feel I am the only one jealousy makes intolerable.
There is little comparison, however. I am fond of you, and I think Byerly would murder my husband if he could manage it.
She shakes her head a little, comes back, is warm too. ]
I should like to witness it, so that I do not feel I am the only one jealousy makes intolerable.
There is little comparison, however. I am fond of you, and I think Byerly would murder my husband if he could manage it.
[ If he thought she meant it, he’d protest: Byerly’s no murderer, not really, and however much he hates the man, he wouldn’t do something that would hurt Alexandrie so badly.
But he knows she doesn’t mean it, so he only laughs. ]
Yes, there is that. Still, though. It is all right. I wouldn’t have gone up, honestly, except the dreams were bad, and I thought they were only mine.
But he knows she doesn’t mean it, so he only laughs. ]
Yes, there is that. Still, though. It is all right. I wouldn’t have gone up, honestly, except the dreams were bad, and I thought they were only mine.
I should not have suggested it, had I known I would react so.
[ a breath, then, ]
I do not wish it to hurt. I should like my thoughts and heart to agree, but they do not, and it would be careless of me to pretend it is other than it is.
[ a breath, then, ]
I do not wish it to hurt. I should like my thoughts and heart to agree, but they do not, and it would be careless of me to pretend it is other than it is.
That is all I want to hear, I think.
[ She sounds a little strained. ]
But he will not say it. If that is true and it frightens him to love me as he does, he will not say so. He did not say that I was important enough to make any interruption in the path the two of you were taking—he did not speak of that at all—and then he says ‘of course I want you’ only after I drag it from him with my fingernails.
I cannot understand why he is confused by my being afraid that—
[ A pause. With some self-recrimination: ]
You do not need to listen to my grievances.
[ She sounds a little strained. ]
But he will not say it. If that is true and it frightens him to love me as he does, he will not say so. He did not say that I was important enough to make any interruption in the path the two of you were taking—he did not speak of that at all—and then he says ‘of course I want you’ only after I drag it from him with my fingernails.
I cannot understand why he is confused by my being afraid that—
[ A pause. With some self-recrimination: ]
You do not need to listen to my grievances.
[ Another pause, then softly: ]
Yes.
I only wished to be told that I am beautiful, that I am loved, that I would be missed. To be told these things because I need to hear them while I try to figure out how it is I am making myself afraid.
But he would not, and so I think I am not, and I do not think it confusing that I should come to such a conclusion and be fretful about it.
Yes.
I only wished to be told that I am beautiful, that I am loved, that I would be missed. To be told these things because I need to hear them while I try to figure out how it is I am making myself afraid.
But he would not, and so I think I am not, and I do not think it confusing that I should come to such a conclusion and be fretful about it.
[ More silence, and then very quietly: ]
He could do it for you.
And that is why I cannot be there.
[ A breath, and she sounds again as she did when she first called; herself again, if subdued. ]
But I will stay in the office, if you like.
He could do it for you.
And that is why I cannot be there.
[ A breath, and she sounds again as she did when she first called; herself again, if subdued. ]
But I will stay in the office, if you like.
[ He could try to tell her that it’s different, that he’s different, that they’re different. That he’s never bitten Byerly’s hand. That he’s easy—that they could spend most of the morning talking about Alexandrie and Byerly and their feelings, all but replicating the worst irrelevant-afterthought feelings that Bastien woke from that nightmare with, and a silent worried look would be more than he expected and plenty to calm his heart.
But he thinks she knows, and knowing doesn’t make it better, and hearing it again wouldn’t either.
So he smiles. ]
I do. I’ll see you there. And I will tell him he is not allowed. Exiled. Maybe he will write you your paean after all.
But he thinks she knows, and knowing doesn’t make it better, and hearing it again wouldn’t either.
So he smiles. ]
I do. I’ll see you there. And I will tell him he is not allowed. Exiled. Maybe he will write you your paean after all.
I do not need one. Only time.
Thank you. For your kindness.
Thank you. For your kindness.
A Fereldan spy, navigating international intrigue and his personal relationships with the help of a magical ring that lets him see an hour into the future... That has potential.
[ Somewhat more seriously, ]
I should have known better than to come, too. I just really wanted to see you and it made me stupid.
[ Somewhat more seriously, ]
I should have known better than to come, too. I just really wanted to see you and it made me stupid.
Edited 2021-02-27 20:10 (UTC)
[ A little humorless ha, even though Bastien really is letting Byerly off the hook far too generously. By knows Alexandrie, knows that she's prone to jealousy. He should have known that it wouldn't just be okay.
But: ]
And I wanted to...know that you both were all right. And to have you close. Very greedy of me.
[ A little sigh. ]
I hope it was merely awkward, rather than outright upsetting.
But: ]
And I wanted to...know that you both were all right. And to have you close. Very greedy of me.
[ A little sigh. ]
I hope it was merely awkward, rather than outright upsetting.
No, no, it was...
[ Fine, he was going to say again. He catches himself. Not quite a lie, but close enough he steps back from it. ]
I might be a little jealous, too, I think. Not territorial, not like that, but—it seems so much bigger and louder, with the two of you. And the way she focuses, like she has to remind herself anyone else is there. I can’t do that. The only time I am not thinking of everyone who can see me and what they must think and what I should say and what I should be doing with my hands and my face—I only stop when I’m alone, and sometimes when I’m alone with you. If someone else can see, I can’t. I hope that doesn’t mean I don’t love you enough.
[ —steps back from fine and into a puddle of honesty a little deeper than he expected. And sending crystals are convenient, but he also hates them. They’re only a little bit better than letters, so far as being able to gauge reactions goes.
So he makes a quasi-laugh sort of noise, self-deprecating in its awkwardness, and jokes— ]
See what you get when you worry about my feelings? That’ll teach you.
[ Fine, he was going to say again. He catches himself. Not quite a lie, but close enough he steps back from it. ]
I might be a little jealous, too, I think. Not territorial, not like that, but—it seems so much bigger and louder, with the two of you. And the way she focuses, like she has to remind herself anyone else is there. I can’t do that. The only time I am not thinking of everyone who can see me and what they must think and what I should say and what I should be doing with my hands and my face—I only stop when I’m alone, and sometimes when I’m alone with you. If someone else can see, I can’t. I hope that doesn’t mean I don’t love you enough.
[ —steps back from fine and into a puddle of honesty a little deeper than he expected. And sending crystals are convenient, but he also hates them. They’re only a little bit better than letters, so far as being able to gauge reactions goes.
So he makes a quasi-laugh sort of noise, self-deprecating in its awkwardness, and jokes— ]
See what you get when you worry about my feelings? That’ll teach you.
Yes, I'm well-taught.
[ It's an awkward little joke as well, because all of that is - well, it's a lot. A hell of a lot more than what he usually gets from Bastien. But he likes it. It's intimate and honest and therefore really special. But what's he going to say, oh, Bastien, I treasure your feelings of discomfort, and the way that you've had paranoia and mistrust drilled into you from childhood? So he just tries to communicate the fact that he is fond, and warm, and touched, through tone of voice alone. And he hopes that works. ]
Lexie is - like an ocean. Like a tempest. And I love a storm. But I also love the deep woods on a quiet day.
[ Is that a helpful metaphor? Maker, his poetry really is terrible. So he goes for honesty instead: ]
I think I've noticed it. When you stop worrying about performing. It's subtle, but I think I've seen it.
[ It's an awkward little joke as well, because all of that is - well, it's a lot. A hell of a lot more than what he usually gets from Bastien. But he likes it. It's intimate and honest and therefore really special. But what's he going to say, oh, Bastien, I treasure your feelings of discomfort, and the way that you've had paranoia and mistrust drilled into you from childhood? So he just tries to communicate the fact that he is fond, and warm, and touched, through tone of voice alone. And he hopes that works. ]
Lexie is - like an ocean. Like a tempest. And I love a storm. But I also love the deep woods on a quiet day.
[ Is that a helpful metaphor? Maker, his poetry really is terrible. So he goes for honesty instead: ]
I think I've noticed it. When you stop worrying about performing. It's subtle, but I think I've seen it.
[ It’s a particularly comforting metaphor to give to a fellow who struggles to see the appeal of storms, except on a distant theoretical level that allows for other people to go out and love them if they want to, that’s fine, write him a poem to read about it afterwards, but in the meantime he’ll be as indoors as possible, maybe with his head under a pillow, thanks.
Between that and Byerly’s tone, he smiles, and the fear shrinks, and he’s quiet for a moment just to feel it.
Then: ]
Is it when I drool in my sleep? Because, actually, that is on purpose. [ It’s not. ] It’s meant to be endearing. I don’t even do it naturally. I have to work up a big mouthful of spit before I fall asleep so it can leak out overnight.
Between that and Byerly’s tone, he smiles, and the fear shrinks, and he’s quiet for a moment just to feel it.
Then: ]
Is it when I drool in my sleep? Because, actually, that is on purpose. [ It’s not. ] It’s meant to be endearing. I don’t even do it naturally. I have to work up a big mouthful of spit before I fall asleep so it can leak out overnight.
Sure. There’s, uh... being angry at the world for being so fucking relentless you can’t even be left alone when you are asleep. You could throw things, if you choose that one.
You could shut down emotionally for the foreseeable future. That option is not my favorite, though.
You could lose your mind with fear for the future and run away to Gwaren with me after all. That one I like a little more.
Or you could pretend for everyone who needs it, since you are important, and then come over here and let me rub your back and talk to me about it.
You could shut down emotionally for the foreseeable future. That option is not my favorite, though.
You could lose your mind with fear for the future and run away to Gwaren with me after all. That one I like a little more.
Or you could pretend for everyone who needs it, since you are important, and then come over here and let me rub your back and talk to me about it.
[ After a short delay the door cracks open enough to confirm who’s knocking, then wider. On the other side, the room is dimly fire-lit and Bastien is wearing a blanket like a cloak against the cold. ]
After-hours entry fee, [ he whispers, tapping his own cheek and angling it up to be kissed. ]
After-hours entry fee, [ he whispers, tapping his own cheek and angling it up to be kissed. ]
[ He laughs first, fake swoons second, with a backwards stumble that leaves room for Byerly to come in. ]
Unparalleled kissers, you Fereldans, I have always said.
[ Quiet, since the door is open, but he closes and locks it once Byerly is past the threshold and stops whispering while he herds him toward the bed. ]
You are banished from our office, by the way. I forgot to tell you.
Unparalleled kissers, you Fereldans, I have always said.
[ Quiet, since the door is open, but he closes and locks it once Byerly is past the threshold and stops whispering while he herds him toward the bed. ]
You are banished from our office, by the way. I forgot to tell you.
[ A little shrug. He’s not overly concerned about it, himself. ]
She offered to move out of it, so you could come by without it upsetting her, but I don’t want her to go. I’ve been trying to... She was always your lover first, to me, and my friend second. When she was anything to me at all. It might be easier for all of us if it is less like that, don’t you think? At least a little.
And I like her.
She offered to move out of it, so you could come by without it upsetting her, but I don’t want her to go. I’ve been trying to... She was always your lover first, to me, and my friend second. When she was anything to me at all. It might be easier for all of us if it is less like that, don’t you think? At least a little.
And I like her.
Then I will go ashore tomorrow and pick some out. How many—five, do you think? I could do five by lunch.
[ He sits on the edge of the mattress, twisted to rearrange pillows to facilitate a future of back rubs, and adds, ]
No shoes in my bed. But if you can’t stay the night you have to leave your shirt on so I don’t feel teased.
[ He sits on the edge of the mattress, twisted to rearrange pillows to facilitate a future of back rubs, and adds, ]
No shoes in my bed. But if you can’t stay the night you have to leave your shirt on so I don’t feel teased.
[ Charming.
Bastien ruffles his hair first, rearranges some of the blankets to cover what can reasonably be covered, and shifts onto his knees to get to slow and steady work. ]
Maker. You were not lying.
[ He’s also not only here for a back rub. But another are you alright would be almost as broad and useless as tell me things now, so— ]
It is probably very selfish to be glad the Herald didn’t end the war all by herself that way, but I think I am.
Bastien ruffles his hair first, rearranges some of the blankets to cover what can reasonably be covered, and shifts onto his knees to get to slow and steady work. ]
Maker. You were not lying.
[ He’s also not only here for a back rub. But another are you alright would be almost as broad and useless as tell me things now, so— ]
It is probably very selfish to be glad the Herald didn’t end the war all by herself that way, but I think I am.
[ The touch is good. The methodical, rhythmic pattern of it is good. He lets a breath out, and tries to force his back to unclench so that Bastien doesn't break a damn finger. ]
A bit shocking, how easily we could have been bastards. Just a few years of piece, and then -
A bit shocking, how easily we could have been bastards. Just a few years of piece, and then -
Rotten.
[ He has strong hands, but Byerly’s back really is like a cliff face. When he’s finished a preliminary survey of the landscape he leans over to the bed stand to dig around and retrieve the oil kept there for other mostly-Byerly-related reasons. ]
—maybe. I am not sure how much of it to believe could really happen that way. I hope if a smarmy bastard showed up like that and told me there was a massive conspiracy of elves trying to end the world, I would ask some more questions before I believed it.
[ He has strong hands, but Byerly’s back really is like a cliff face. When he’s finished a preliminary survey of the landscape he leans over to the bed stand to dig around and retrieve the oil kept there for other mostly-Byerly-related reasons. ]
—maybe. I am not sure how much of it to believe could really happen that way. I hope if a smarmy bastard showed up like that and told me there was a massive conspiracy of elves trying to end the world, I would ask some more questions before I believed it.
Smarmy bastard? How dare you. My parentage is very well-attested and well-proved; I am a smarmy cad, but never a bastard.
[ He does give a slight shiver when Bastien's fingers touch his skin. It's cold - or, well, he's cold.
Less facetiously: ]
And I hope that I'd never treat an old friend like that. I can't quite remember why we were at odds, but it seemed all out of proportion to - well, even to our friendship as younger men.
[ He does give a slight shiver when Bastien's fingers touch his skin. It's cold - or, well, he's cold.
Less facetiously: ]
And I hope that I'd never treat an old friend like that. I can't quite remember why we were at odds, but it seemed all out of proportion to - well, even to our friendship as younger men.
[ The joke prompts a laugh, and the shiver prompts Bastien to move his knee to straddle his thighs—above them, no spine-misaligning pressure—to apply a little more pressure and speed up and down the length of his spine while he spreads the oil, trying to generate warmth. ]
Mm. And I am not usually so rude, even to people I don’t like. Maybe it was like that because you are so important to me now. My mind couldn’t imagine being indifferent to you. It had to pick something stronger.
[ A pause to rub his thumbs on either side of the base of his neck. ]
And you know—when you went all keen-eyed and started writing in your shorthand? I was so mad, in the dream, but thinking about it now, that was very sexy of you.
Mm. And I am not usually so rude, even to people I don’t like. Maybe it was like that because you are so important to me now. My mind couldn’t imagine being indifferent to you. It had to pick something stronger.
[ A pause to rub his thumbs on either side of the base of his neck. ]
And you know—when you went all keen-eyed and started writing in your shorthand? I was so mad, in the dream, but thinking about it now, that was very sexy of you.
Ooh.
[ Flattery and that lovely little touch on his neck? At the same time? This time the shiver isn't from the cold. ]
I didn't notice I went keen-eyed. Bad spywork, though worth it if it got you hot and bothered. [ And then, grinning lazily up at Bastien - ] Honestly, if I'd stayed behind too much longer, I probably would have jumped you. Haughty and dangerous is a good look on you.
[ Flattery and that lovely little touch on his neck? At the same time? This time the shiver isn't from the cold. ]
I didn't notice I went keen-eyed. Bad spywork, though worth it if it got you hot and bothered. [ And then, grinning lazily up at Bastien - ] Honestly, if I'd stayed behind too much longer, I probably would have jumped you. Haughty and dangerous is a good look on you.
[ Bastien smiles in answer, a little catlike, storing that information for the future. For the present, he plants his hands on the mattress and bends down to kiss the back of Byerly’s neck, then the side, and to whisper sweetly in his ear: ]
I would have thrown you out.
[ Which is punctuated by a vengeful lick on his cheek, before Bastien sits up straight again and sets about attempting to demolish the knots in Byerly’s back in earnest. ]
I would have thrown you out.
[ Which is punctuated by a vengeful lick on his cheek, before Bastien sits up straight again and sets about attempting to demolish the knots in Byerly’s back in earnest. ]
[ Bastien hums thoughtfully, perhaps willing to concede that there might have been several intermediary steps between being jumped and tossing Byerly out of the door.
There’s no thought for the question, though. He laughs. It’s nearly a snort. ]
Not really. I was bored. For real, before I came here. Even in the dream I was looking for trouble—not with the elves. I was writing to John Silver and having drinks of Nikos Averesch, of all people. And Madame Fitcher came by looking for someone I was supposed to know. That was strange.
[ He digs into a spot near By’s shoulder blades that’s too obstinate for a more coaxing touch. ]
Were you running into people like that? —tell me if this hurts too much, don’t be tough about it.
There’s no thought for the question, though. He laughs. It’s nearly a snort. ]
Not really. I was bored. For real, before I came here. Even in the dream I was looking for trouble—not with the elves. I was writing to John Silver and having drinks of Nikos Averesch, of all people. And Madame Fitcher came by looking for someone I was supposed to know. That was strange.
[ He digs into a spot near By’s shoulder blades that’s too obstinate for a more coaxing touch. ]
Were you running into people like that? —tell me if this hurts too much, don’t be tough about it.
[ He practically purrs: ]
No, that's good.
[ Enough that his brain is lagging a little bit. Which leads him to a rather loose tongue: ]
Fitcher was looking for proper people to kill, I suppose. No, I got rather more of those people in the dream of the future.
No, that's good.
[ Enough that his brain is lagging a little bit. Which leads him to a rather loose tongue: ]
Fitcher was looking for proper people to kill, I suppose. No, I got rather more of those people in the dream of the future.
[ He smiles at the purr, but it fades into perplexity at the comment about Fitcher. Not too much perplexity. They’ve talked around things enough for him to have some idea of the shape of the undiscussed space at the center. But some.
He’ll save it for later. ]
At least everyone was together and miserable in a swamp. [ He moves to another knot. ] Is that what you would want, if the war really went on forever? To spend your life that way, I mean. Of course the details could improve.
He’ll save it for later. ]
At least everyone was together and miserable in a swamp. [ He moves to another knot. ] Is that what you would want, if the war really went on forever? To spend your life that way, I mean. Of course the details could improve.
[ That startled him right out of his own somberness, and he snickers and adopts a tone that would be a parody of a psychiatrist if he knew what a psychiatrist was or was supposed to sound like. ]
And do you often shit in your dreams, Monsieur l'Ambassadeur?
And do you often shit in your dreams, Monsieur l'Ambassadeur?
If she ever blacks your eye, I won’t be—no, I will be sorry for you. But I won’t be surprised.
[ And that’s as long as he’s going to pretend they haven’t derailed from what was meant to be a serious question. ]
Swamp aside, though. Would you do it? Another five years of this, while it only got worse?
[ And that’s as long as he’s going to pretend they haven’t derailed from what was meant to be a serious question. ]
Swamp aside, though. Would you do it? Another five years of this, while it only got worse?
I would be. She's the sort to stomp her foot and go red in the face instead of taking any action worth note.
[ Still a little angry over her actions in the dream? Maybe. Though he certainly won't admit as much. How foolish that would be.
A pause, then, and he lapses into momentary silence. Then he answers. ]
No. Not another five years of this. If it got that bad, I'd certainly withdraw from leadership. Find someone better than me. [ But - ] I suppose I'd stick with it, though. The fight, in general.
[ Still a little angry over her actions in the dream? Maybe. Though he certainly won't admit as much. How foolish that would be.
A pause, then, and he lapses into momentary silence. Then he answers. ]
No. Not another five years of this. If it got that bad, I'd certainly withdraw from leadership. Find someone better than me. [ But - ] I suppose I'd stick with it, though. The fight, in general.
[ Better than me earns an admonishing finger-flick against his spine. ]
That is what I would have put money on.
[ And while his hand has paused kneading to flick, anyway, he reaches up to curl his finger against Byerly’s neck and mime tugging his invisible collar. ]
It fit you. I mean, you seemed sad and tired, and I know it was a dream. But I was awake, sort of, and you being there and leading and running off into danger—those parts were not confusing at all.
That is what I would have put money on.
[ And while his hand has paused kneading to flick, anyway, he reaches up to curl his finger against Byerly’s neck and mime tugging his invisible collar. ]
It fit you. I mean, you seemed sad and tired, and I know it was a dream. But I was awake, sort of, and you being there and leading and running off into danger—those parts were not confusing at all.
[ The tugged finger hooks into a one-fingered hold. He isn’t done with Byerly’s back, but for the moment he slides down to lie next to him, leaving one leg curled over his thighs, to lie next to him and have a better view of his face. ]
Bearded?
[ The warm and prompting sort of joke that really means explain. His free hand busies itself with more neck-kneading. ]
Bearded?
[ The warm and prompting sort of joke that really means explain. His free hand busies itself with more neck-kneading. ]
Bearded. [ The agreement is easy, the tone warm and casual. ] Manly. Decisive. Essentially chaste. A proper warrior. And the Bann of Dragonmount.
[ His lips twist, then, revealing a bit of the unhappy self-doubt. ]
I certainly never thought that that was my dream.
[ His lips twist, then, revealing a bit of the unhappy self-doubt. ]
I certainly never thought that that was my dream.
Mm.
[ Shit. Yeah. That's good shit. He arches his neck to push his head into Bastien's fingers. And he says, a little dreamily: ]
I don't think I would have dreamed it otherwise. If it weren't just sitting there in some odd little corner of my heart. Because it's not really about the Bannorn, or about power, is it?
[ It's about approval. Being wanted. ]
[ Shit. Yeah. That's good shit. He arches his neck to push his head into Bastien's fingers. And he says, a little dreamily: ]
I don't think I would have dreamed it otherwise. If it weren't just sitting there in some odd little corner of my heart. Because it's not really about the Bannorn, or about power, is it?
[ It's about approval. Being wanted. ]
[ Bastien is quiet for a few seconds, scratching lightly behind By’s ear and feeling helpless. He imagines he could love him like this for his whole life and still not come close to satisfying the hungry shadow his family left behind in him. Then he thinks that’s alright, really. He can love the shadow too. And he slides his head closer, knocking his forehead into Byerly’s, a little less than gently but not hard enough to hurt. ]
They should be the ones dreaming of making you proud. Every night. They should be haunted by it.
[ It’s trite, and there’s a little playfulness in the hyperbole, but it’s wrapped around sincerity. ]
But I know it’s easier to say than to feel.
They should be the ones dreaming of making you proud. Every night. They should be haunted by it.
[ It’s trite, and there’s a little playfulness in the hyperbole, but it’s wrapped around sincerity. ]
But I know it’s easier to say than to feel.
[ Oh. By turns his face downward into the pillow. He wants to hide his face, but he's just trying to pretend it's a casual sort of move. He wonders if Bastien is convinced. Probably not.
Is that true? He is better than every single fucking one of them. With the exceptions, obviously, of dear Dono and his sister - but them aside, yes, they're all awful. And so, yes, by default, he is better than them. He's a spiteful, weak creature ruled by his vices and his emotions, who lies constantly and makes a living betraying and deceiving. But he's never, oh, chased down an eight-year-old boy and held his head under water for fun. He's never made nasty little comments about how slovenly his daughter looks when he's the one who never once bought her new clothes. Byerly is shit, but at least he's shit for a higher cause.
La bonne chose a faire. She might have him around the neck, but at least she's made him a good dog. ]
I'm not so hard to please, either, is the thing.
[ He mumbles that into the pillow. ]
Don't be a monster doesn't feel like a particularly small target. Even poor marksmen can hit that one.
Is that true? He is better than every single fucking one of them. With the exceptions, obviously, of dear Dono and his sister - but them aside, yes, they're all awful. And so, yes, by default, he is better than them. He's a spiteful, weak creature ruled by his vices and his emotions, who lies constantly and makes a living betraying and deceiving. But he's never, oh, chased down an eight-year-old boy and held his head under water for fun. He's never made nasty little comments about how slovenly his daughter looks when he's the one who never once bought her new clothes. Byerly is shit, but at least he's shit for a higher cause.
La bonne chose a faire. She might have him around the neck, but at least she's made him a good dog. ]
I'm not so hard to please, either, is the thing.
[ He mumbles that into the pillow. ]
Don't be a monster doesn't feel like a particularly small target. Even poor marksmen can hit that one.
[ Bastien smiles, fond and sad, and fans his fingers out over the back of Byerly’s head to give it its own little massage while it’s so accessible. ]
I suppose. Unless you don’t think hitting the target is the point. Why do you think—
[ It’s curious, genuinely, not the tone of a leading question meant to guide him anywhere in particular. Bastien doesn’t know. ]
—you didn’t become like them?
I suppose. Unless you don’t think hitting the target is the point. Why do you think—
[ It’s curious, genuinely, not the tone of a leading question meant to guide him anywhere in particular. Bastien doesn’t know. ]
—you didn’t become like them?
By being good.
[ He turns his head away from the pillow to look over at Bastien now. His expression is a little sad, but also rather soft. There's a lot of love in that look. And a lot of love in the fact that Byerly is letting Bastien see it. ]
She'd scold me for being petty or cruel. Go and help the poor instead of walking by. And she'd help me, too, when...Oh, when my father was being a beast towards me. When he was calling me a little monster, or ripping into me for my foulness, she'd shout him down. She had a very loud voice for her size.
[ He turns his head away from the pillow to look over at Bastien now. His expression is a little sad, but also rather soft. There's a lot of love in that look. And a lot of love in the fact that Byerly is letting Bastien see it. ]
She'd scold me for being petty or cruel. Go and help the poor instead of walking by. And she'd help me, too, when...Oh, when my father was being a beast towards me. When he was calling me a little monster, or ripping into me for my foulness, she'd shout him down. She had a very loud voice for her size.
[ Bastien’s smile is affectionate—mostly for Byerly, but a little for this kind and protective little sister he’s never met, by proxy. It fades at monster and foulness, then brightens for her loud voice, and he toys absently with the outer shell of Byerly’s ear. ]
She sounds wonderful.
[ Even if Byerly is overlooking flaws out of love. Odd, though— ]
It must be hard to grow up so decent in a family like that. Like throwing seeds on the rocks. [ The words are quiet and slow; he’s thinking as he goes. ] But you went hungry for her, and you put yourself in the way of things that might hurt her. Maybe you made each other good, in your own ways.
She sounds wonderful.
[ Even if Byerly is overlooking flaws out of love. Odd, though— ]
It must be hard to grow up so decent in a family like that. Like throwing seeds on the rocks. [ The words are quiet and slow; he’s thinking as he goes. ] But you went hungry for her, and you put yourself in the way of things that might hurt her. Maybe you made each other good, in your own ways.
[ A hesitation as he thinks that over. ]
Maybe.
[ He tilts his head a little further towards Bastien, eyes thoughtful. ]
There are plenty of bastards who have to take care of others. So it's not like caring for someone keeps you from being a bastard. But without me, I imagine she'd have been a lot harder. And without her, I don't know if I'd ever have cared for anyone aside from myself.
[ He frowns very slightly. ]
You were the oldest, right? In your family?
Maybe.
[ He tilts his head a little further towards Bastien, eyes thoughtful. ]
There are plenty of bastards who have to take care of others. So it's not like caring for someone keeps you from being a bastard. But without me, I imagine she'd have been a lot harder. And without her, I don't know if I'd ever have cared for anyone aside from myself.
[ He frowns very slightly. ]
You were the oldest, right? In your family?
[ Bastien raises his eyebrows first, then smiles, pleased to have him think to worry about that at all. Though of course— ]
It isn’t shitty to say to me. They don’t come much less trapped than I was.
[ He’s been neglecting Byerly’s back for long enough now that he admits to himself that he might not be returning to it any minutes now, and he sits up to pull blankets into place over his bare skin. ]
Trapped by duty, you mean?
It isn’t shitty to say to me. They don’t come much less trapped than I was.
[ He’s been neglecting Byerly’s back for long enough now that he admits to himself that he might not be returning to it any minutes now, and he sits up to pull blankets into place over his bare skin. ]
Trapped by duty, you mean?
[ Snuggly. And appreciated. ]
Trapped by incompetence.
[ A crooked little smile. ]
The only skill I was seriously trained in was how to be a military officer - a tutelage they gave up on very quickly - and she was only taught how to marry. There was nowhere to flee to where we wouldn't have starved to death.
Trapped by incompetence.
[ A crooked little smile. ]
The only skill I was seriously trained in was how to be a military officer - a tutelage they gave up on very quickly - and she was only taught how to marry. There was nowhere to flee to where we wouldn't have starved to death.
[ Bastien hums with friendly skepticism—not revising his decision that it isn’t shitty to say, quite, but it’s certainly a step closer than he thought—and floomphs back down onto the pillow. ]
You would have managed if you had to. But I can understand feeling like it was impossible.
You would have managed if you had to. But I can understand feeling like it was impossible.
Well, I did manage, in the end.
[ He sighs, rolls his head to look upwards at the ceiling. ]
Told him to fuck off, left my home and the meager few pennies of my inheritance behind. Learned how to screw my way into a meal and a bed. Turns out these pretty eyes of mine were asset enough - and my clever tongue.
[ He sighs, rolls his head to look upwards at the ceiling. ]
Told him to fuck off, left my home and the meager few pennies of my inheritance behind. Learned how to screw my way into a meal and a bed. Turns out these pretty eyes of mine were asset enough - and my clever tongue.
[ His laugh splutters in his throat before pulling fully free, and he’s still laughing when he tries to give Byerly an approving kiss on his very-close mouth. It’s half successful at best. ]
Sacré chant, such wondrous pools of beauty, right there in your face. How did I never notice before?
Sacré chant, such wondrous pools of beauty, right there in your face. How did I never notice before?
Ah, that could explain it.
[ He gets enough distance to put his chin in one hand and lovingly stroke the rim of Byerly's left nostril with a finger of the other. ]
You had some, uh, debris in there that night the mountains, you know. And I was enchanted anyway. Maybe even more enchanted. I should have realized I was in trouble then.
[ He gets enough distance to put his chin in one hand and lovingly stroke the rim of Byerly's left nostril with a finger of the other. ]
You had some, uh, debris in there that night the mountains, you know. And I was enchanted anyway. Maybe even more enchanted. I should have realized I was in trouble then.
[ Bastien shakes his head. ]
No. No, you were perfect.
[ He pinches the tip of Byerly's nose between two fingers, not unlike a cigarette, and gives it a wiggle that's meant to be apologetic, in lieu of a spoken apology for bringing it up that might only prolong his embarrassment. ]
And honestly, I don't think the odds were ever close enough for some snot to tip them one way or the other. You could have hawked something up right there, and I might have needed another few minutes to work up to it, but I still would have kissed you.
No. No, you were perfect.
[ He pinches the tip of Byerly's nose between two fingers, not unlike a cigarette, and gives it a wiggle that's meant to be apologetic, in lieu of a spoken apology for bringing it up that might only prolong his embarrassment. ]
And honestly, I don't think the odds were ever close enough for some snot to tip them one way or the other. You could have hawked something up right there, and I might have needed another few minutes to work up to it, but I still would have kissed you.
[ A laugh. For a moment, he thinks of adding, and don't forget the women who grow magnificent curls, but - well, Bastien probably doesn't want to talk about Alexandrie, either. ]
So true. It's why we had bad luck as young men. Insufficient mustache.
So true. It's why we had bad luck as young men. Insufficient mustache.
[ Bastien's not opposed, for the record, but he doesn't think of her as someone in need to divine assistance. So he grins and nods and doesn't really notice her absence from his theory. And then the grin fades—because his bad luck makes him think of Vincent, and then he thinks (stupidly, a little addled from the warmth and ease and safety and beginnings of drowsiness) that perhaps Vincent should have grown a mustache, and then maybe he wouldn't have been caught, and—
He stops thinking about it.
But since his grin has faded anyway, that's as good a time as any to end the detour. ]
Does it bother you, that you— [ how did he put it ] —screwed your way into meals and beds?
He stops thinking about it.
But since his grin has faded anyway, that's as good a time as any to end the detour. ]
Does it bother you, that you— [ how did he put it ] —screwed your way into meals and beds?
Certainly not. I found something I was good at.
[ He answers that at once. But then he hesitates and admits: ]
It was difficult sometimes, though. Not knowing whether you were romancing someone because you liked them, or whether it was just desperation. It makes you doubt yourself.
[ He answers that at once. But then he hesitates and admits: ]
It was difficult sometimes, though. Not knowing whether you were romancing someone because you liked them, or whether it was just desperation. It makes you doubt yourself.
Doubt yourself–because you thought you might like people more than you did? Or do you wonder if you're just desperate when you like people now?
[ He nudges his shoulder into the mattress, which doesn't have springs and can't bounce. ]
I couldn't blame you. This mattress is much better than yours.
[ It isn't. ]
[ He nudges his shoulder into the mattress, which doesn't have springs and can't bounce. ]
I couldn't blame you. This mattress is much better than yours.
[ It isn't. ]
Edited 2021-03-04 03:11 (UTC)
Such luxury.
[ He rubs his cheek against it, like it's the height of luxury instead of a thin pallet intended for miserable prisoners of the dreadful Circle. Then, less facetiously: ]
And the latter, I suppose. It wasn't just what I did then, of course - Truthfully, it's probably less about screwing my way to a meal and more about what I've done since that. Screwing my way to that sensitive cache of letters, or that key rumor, or that bit of blackmail. But there's always this undercurrent of calculation, in the back of my head, where I'm thinking, what are the advantages here?
[ And he sneaks a look up at Bastien - nervous, uncertain. That's a nasty little thing to confess, after all. I'm thinking about what you can do for me. ]
[ He rubs his cheek against it, like it's the height of luxury instead of a thin pallet intended for miserable prisoners of the dreadful Circle. Then, less facetiously: ]
And the latter, I suppose. It wasn't just what I did then, of course - Truthfully, it's probably less about screwing my way to a meal and more about what I've done since that. Screwing my way to that sensitive cache of letters, or that key rumor, or that bit of blackmail. But there's always this undercurrent of calculation, in the back of my head, where I'm thinking, what are the advantages here?
[ And he sneaks a look up at Bastien - nervous, uncertain. That's a nasty little thing to confess, after all. I'm thinking about what you can do for me. ]
[ Until Byerly looks, Bastien’s thinking, face serious in the dim light. But he’s watching By’s face while he thinks, and when he looks Bastien smiles.
Maybe he should be bothered. But if it’s a relatable fear, if not one Bastien walks around with day to day. And he’s not really worried in the least—or maybe in the least, but only in the least—that Byerly would ever use him in any way he wasn’t eager to be used. ]
Ah, joke’s on you, By. If you only wanted something like that, you could have skipped all of this.
[ This: Bastien wraps an arm around him, and he swiftly wedges and wriggles and wrangles to get half-under him, like a body pillow. ]
All you had to do was pay me.
Maybe he should be bothered. But if it’s a relatable fear, if not one Bastien walks around with day to day. And he’s not really worried in the least—or maybe in the least, but only in the least—that Byerly would ever use him in any way he wasn’t eager to be used. ]
Ah, joke’s on you, By. If you only wanted something like that, you could have skipped all of this.
[ This: Bastien wraps an arm around him, and he swiftly wedges and wriggles and wrangles to get half-under him, like a body pillow. ]
All you had to do was pay me.
[ He relaxes when he sees that lack of concern. A few months ago, he wouldn't have been assuaged, certain instead that Bastien was simply hiding his displeasure. But now, he knows that Bastien makes an effort to show him. To share his thoughts. ]
Don't be ridiculous.
[ By obligingly squirms into his arms. ]
You know I don't have any money.
Don't be ridiculous.
[ By obligingly squirms into his arms. ]
You know I don't have any money.
Obviously I would—
[ Give you a discount, he nearly says, but Vincent’s name flickers at the edge of his mind again, and Bastien shifts course with barely a hiccup of a pause. ]
—send the bill to Ferelden.
[ There are a number of benefits to having an armful of Byerly. One of them is easier access to his back, which Bastien resumes searching one-handed for lingering strain and tension. ]
It must be hard to, uh... I have thought the same of Alexandrie. The nobles, they are playing the Game for something that never stops mattering. Their names, their families. It is all one game. Every move matters. Every piece you lose stays lost for the rest of your life.
For us—the bards like I was, I mean—it is more like a tournament. We play one game, then we get a fresh board and a new opponent, so as long as we win it doesn’t matter what pieces we have left.
We had our own problems, of course, but I think that part of it must be easier for us. To not be playing one single unending game.
[ Anyway, ]
Your work seems more like that. Everything always matters. You don’t get to say that you protected your country from this or that like you were told to, so you are done and you will worry about it again when they give you something new to do.
[ Give you a discount, he nearly says, but Vincent’s name flickers at the edge of his mind again, and Bastien shifts course with barely a hiccup of a pause. ]
—send the bill to Ferelden.
[ There are a number of benefits to having an armful of Byerly. One of them is easier access to his back, which Bastien resumes searching one-handed for lingering strain and tension. ]
It must be hard to, uh... I have thought the same of Alexandrie. The nobles, they are playing the Game for something that never stops mattering. Their names, their families. It is all one game. Every move matters. Every piece you lose stays lost for the rest of your life.
For us—the bards like I was, I mean—it is more like a tournament. We play one game, then we get a fresh board and a new opponent, so as long as we win it doesn’t matter what pieces we have left.
We had our own problems, of course, but I think that part of it must be easier for us. To not be playing one single unending game.
[ Anyway, ]
Your work seems more like that. Everything always matters. You don’t get to say that you protected your country from this or that like you were told to, so you are done and you will worry about it again when they give you something new to do.
[ By reaches out and traces the line of Bastien's cheekbone as he thinks. A moment, and then he agrees - ]
Yes.
[ But: ]
But...If Ferelden fell, or if it swept away all other nations in the world and become like the Tevinter of old, there'd still be work to do. I was hungry for this before I was ever recruited. Because it's not fully about her. [ A little shrug of one shoulder. ] Even if all threats to Ferelden were defeated, this game would continue on.
Yes.
[ But: ]
But...If Ferelden fell, or if it swept away all other nations in the world and become like the Tevinter of old, there'd still be work to do. I was hungry for this before I was ever recruited. Because it's not fully about her. [ A little shrug of one shoulder. ] Even if all threats to Ferelden were defeated, this game would continue on.
To the end of the world.
[ A little wry. A little—not regretful, but something like it, because that’s it for him too. He’s not ready to say so, and maybe he’ll never say it plainly, because the last thing he wants, if that dream had any real prophecy to it and he does go off and get himself stupidly shot in the throat with an arrow sometime, is for Byerly to have anything to use as evidence that it was his fault.
But he thinks it. That as long as By will have him, he’s not going anywhere without him. That Alexandrie, in their private dream, was right.
He turns his head to nudge his mouth against Byerly’s wrist, not quite a kiss, and brightens. ]
Well. I will love you just the same if you grow a beard or if you don’t, but if you do, you have to promise to do it while I can watch it happen. No surprising me with it. And if you want to be a leader or don’t want to be a leader—that’s all fine. Practically chaste... you would have to allow me a mourning period, but we would be alright.
But if you ever start wearing such dull colors, we will have to have a conversation. I don’t care if you are living in a swamp. That’s no excuse.
[ A little wry. A little—not regretful, but something like it, because that’s it for him too. He’s not ready to say so, and maybe he’ll never say it plainly, because the last thing he wants, if that dream had any real prophecy to it and he does go off and get himself stupidly shot in the throat with an arrow sometime, is for Byerly to have anything to use as evidence that it was his fault.
But he thinks it. That as long as By will have him, he’s not going anywhere without him. That Alexandrie, in their private dream, was right.
He turns his head to nudge his mouth against Byerly’s wrist, not quite a kiss, and brightens. ]
Well. I will love you just the same if you grow a beard or if you don’t, but if you do, you have to promise to do it while I can watch it happen. No surprising me with it. And if you want to be a leader or don’t want to be a leader—that’s all fine. Practically chaste... you would have to allow me a mourning period, but we would be alright.
But if you ever start wearing such dull colors, we will have to have a conversation. I don’t care if you are living in a swamp. That’s no excuse.
[ And By smiles, grateful for the jokes, and even more grateful for the understanding. A thumb comes up to smooth his eyebrow. ]
Well, I certainly wouldn't be chaste if you were around. You're irresistible. [ And then, lightly teasing: ] Did you enjoy it a bit, at least? That I was still mooning over you, even years later? Obviously it was all miserable, but it must have been a little flattering to see how bereft I was.
Well, I certainly wouldn't be chaste if you were around. You're irresistible. [ And then, lightly teasing: ] Did you enjoy it a bit, at least? That I was still mooning over you, even years later? Obviously it was all miserable, but it must have been a little flattering to see how bereft I was.
[ Bastien doesn’t stop smiling; he’s just had his eyebrow smoothed and been called irresistible, so how could he. (With acting, that’s how. But he doesn’t want to.)
He shakes his head, though. ]
I didn’t enjoy it.
[ Dreamed or not, it will take more time for the memory of Byerly’s shoulders hitching while he cried to feel unreal and hazy enough not to tighten something in his chest.
And if it’s a compliment, he could peel it apart. It was a dream. It was Byerly imagining how it might feel to lose him after a couple of years, not how he’d feel now. Not how he’d really feel if it happened, with real time to heal.
But he doesn’t want to do that, either. He grins and kneads his thumb knuckle into the muscle of Byerly’s lower back. ]
But now that you mention it, you were pretty hung up on me, weren’t you? How utterly out of character.
He shakes his head, though. ]
I didn’t enjoy it.
[ Dreamed or not, it will take more time for the memory of Byerly’s shoulders hitching while he cried to feel unreal and hazy enough not to tighten something in his chest.
And if it’s a compliment, he could peel it apart. It was a dream. It was Byerly imagining how it might feel to lose him after a couple of years, not how he’d feel now. Not how he’d really feel if it happened, with real time to heal.
But he doesn’t want to do that, either. He grins and kneads his thumb knuckle into the muscle of Byerly’s lower back. ]
But now that you mention it, you were pretty hung up on me, weren’t you? How utterly out of character.
[ Bastien hasn’t been keeping account, so he doesn’t realize until the moment after he hears Byerly says it that it’s a first. Not the first I love you, but the first one that isn’t accompanied by fears and doubts about whether it’s love at all, or said in a dream, or shared with someone else. The first one that’s simple.
It feels like a fist unclenching, at least partway, so the thing that was hidden safe and crushed inside it can spread out a bit further in his chest. ]
Thank you.
[ —which is a stupid thing to say, but he means it, and he needs half of his wits just to resist a series of impulses: to pull back into the safety of a joke, like a coward; to say like you said when exactly and pry more words out of Byerly, get everything in me in writing, to make him go first into the dark room (again), also like a coward; and to crash forward, to say I’m breaking my promise, here’s my whole heart, do whatever you like with it—
Not like a coward. But possibly like someone who’s made a life out of being what people want. Who gets tangled in it sometimes. He can’t trust it not to be a lie until he knows he still feels it when he’s alone.
So he nestles closer, and he says what he is sure of, mumbly because his mouth is pressed against Byerly’s forehead: ]
I love you, too. And I’m proud of you.
It feels like a fist unclenching, at least partway, so the thing that was hidden safe and crushed inside it can spread out a bit further in his chest. ]
Thank you.
[ —which is a stupid thing to say, but he means it, and he needs half of his wits just to resist a series of impulses: to pull back into the safety of a joke, like a coward; to say like you said when exactly and pry more words out of Byerly, get everything in me in writing, to make him go first into the dark room (again), also like a coward; and to crash forward, to say I’m breaking my promise, here’s my whole heart, do whatever you like with it—
Not like a coward. But possibly like someone who’s made a life out of being what people want. Who gets tangled in it sometimes. He can’t trust it not to be a lie until he knows he still feels it when he’s alone.
So he nestles closer, and he says what he is sure of, mumbly because his mouth is pressed against Byerly’s forehead: ]
I love you, too. And I’m proud of you.
[ And maybe that's silly. Who has a friend - a lover - say they're proud? Those are words that come from a mother or a father. Aren't they?
And yet...By finds that he cares, very deeply, what Bastien thinks. No, Bastien isn't exactly the most morally upright person By knows; he's a Bard, after all. But that doesn't mean that Bastien doesn't have an eye for goodness. He certainly has an eye for skill, for wit, for cleverness. ]
Yeah? What are you proud of?
[ By traces little patterns on Bastien's chest, and tries to pretend his fingertips are beyond fascinating, because he doesn't know what emotion his face is showing right now. ]
And yet...By finds that he cares, very deeply, what Bastien thinks. No, Bastien isn't exactly the most morally upright person By knows; he's a Bard, after all. But that doesn't mean that Bastien doesn't have an eye for goodness. He certainly has an eye for skill, for wit, for cleverness. ]
Yeah? What are you proud of?
[ By traces little patterns on Bastien's chest, and tries to pretend his fingertips are beyond fascinating, because he doesn't know what emotion his face is showing right now. ]
[ Bastien doesn’t mind the way Byerly has always squirmed against praise, like an animal covered in burrs and thorns resisting efforts to pull them out. Sad, but charming, too. If tomorrow—or ten seconds from now—he has to be pinned down to be told he’s wonderful, that will be all right.
But it feels like something, that he’s asking instead of ducking away. Holding out one thorny paw. For a moment Bastien is too touched to smile, his chest very still under Byerly’s fidgeting fingers. Then he does smile, faintly, and proceeds with confident fluidity that comes from not needing any time to think about it at all. ]
I’m proud that you are so much yourself, when it might have been easier for you to put your head down and be more of what everyone expected from you. And I’m proud that people without power, who can’t do anything for you, can come to you for help and find it. And when a problem is too big—when it’s the end of the world, or if the problem is the world—I would like to give up, you know. Find a sunny island and let the world do whatever it likes with itself. But you take whatever piece you can get your arms around and you do something about it, and then you pick up another. It makes me want to be more like you.
[ There’s more. But it might be asking a lot from Byerly, to make him listen to all of that in one go, so he lands on something he hopes is easier. ]
And you are one of the finest musicians I have ever heard. Whenever you play or sing I want to tug on everyone’s sleeves and say that’s—
[ my, would be the next word, but he doesn’t know what word would come after it, so instead: ]
—you know he lets me kiss that mouth? Those very fingers.
But it feels like something, that he’s asking instead of ducking away. Holding out one thorny paw. For a moment Bastien is too touched to smile, his chest very still under Byerly’s fidgeting fingers. Then he does smile, faintly, and proceeds with confident fluidity that comes from not needing any time to think about it at all. ]
I’m proud that you are so much yourself, when it might have been easier for you to put your head down and be more of what everyone expected from you. And I’m proud that people without power, who can’t do anything for you, can come to you for help and find it. And when a problem is too big—when it’s the end of the world, or if the problem is the world—I would like to give up, you know. Find a sunny island and let the world do whatever it likes with itself. But you take whatever piece you can get your arms around and you do something about it, and then you pick up another. It makes me want to be more like you.
[ There’s more. But it might be asking a lot from Byerly, to make him listen to all of that in one go, so he lands on something he hopes is easier. ]
And you are one of the finest musicians I have ever heard. Whenever you play or sing I want to tug on everyone’s sleeves and say that’s—
[ my, would be the next word, but he doesn’t know what word would come after it, so instead: ]
—you know he lets me kiss that mouth? Those very fingers.
[ It feels like a poultice on a wound. Because poultices hurt like hell when they're first put on, stinging and throbbing and agonizing, and this is, too. Or perhaps it's not a poultice, perhaps that's not right - perhaps, more accurately, it's a surgery, with Bastien examining those wounds, holding them up to the light and finding all the little bits of shrapnel that need pulling out.
But it's healing. It won't cure anything; infection could still set in quite easily. But his regard maybe makes it easier. Him and Alexandrie both just - they cut away things that fester. Or perhaps point out healthy flesh that he'd mistaken as gangrenous.
Maker, no, he's not a poet. Bad metaphors, all of them. ]
You are - [ He presses those very fingers against Bastien's chest. His heart. ] It is miraculous, I think, that you were born with eyes this keen, and trained to use them to see human weaknesses, and yet you turn them instead to strengths. [ A slight pause as he looks for the words. ] You've remained kind. A hero's labor.
But it's healing. It won't cure anything; infection could still set in quite easily. But his regard maybe makes it easier. Him and Alexandrie both just - they cut away things that fester. Or perhaps point out healthy flesh that he'd mistaken as gangrenous.
Maker, no, he's not a poet. Bad metaphors, all of them. ]
You are - [ He presses those very fingers against Bastien's chest. His heart. ] It is miraculous, I think, that you were born with eyes this keen, and trained to use them to see human weaknesses, and yet you turn them instead to strengths. [ A slight pause as he looks for the words. ] You've remained kind. A hero's labor.
[ It'd be horrible to protest, after Byerly was so quiet and patient all through his speech and didn't once try to correct him. So Bastien doesn't. He only tries to explain: ]
I started too old. She would never have given me a second look if I hadn't looked younger than I was. The clay had started to dry.
[ They're not his words. There was only so much progress she could make with him, she said; he might be good, if he worked hard enough, but he'd never be great. At the time it'd made him hungry. Ravenous. Willing to stretch until he snapped, stitch himself together, and stretch and snap again. But— ]
I'm glad now.
[ He puts his hand over By's to hold it against his skin. ]
I started too old. She would never have given me a second look if I hadn't looked younger than I was. The clay had started to dry.
[ They're not his words. There was only so much progress she could make with him, she said; he might be good, if he worked hard enough, but he'd never be great. At the time it'd made him hungry. Ravenous. Willing to stretch until he snapped, stitch himself together, and stretch and snap again. But— ]
I'm glad now.
[ He puts his hand over By's to hold it against his skin. ]
If that's the true root of it, then so am I.
[ By's smile, canted up towards Bastien, is half flirtatious and half genuine. ]
But it sounds like the origin of a hero to me. Standing steadfast against his training - absorbing those skills, but retaining his heart. Because his heart is just too strong.
[ By's smile, canted up towards Bastien, is half flirtatious and half genuine. ]
But it sounds like the origin of a hero to me. Standing steadfast against his training - absorbing those skills, but retaining his heart. Because his heart is just too strong.
Edited 2021-03-06 22:33 (UTC)
[ Bastien’s looking at the ceiling first, thinking vaguely about the plausibility of that, but the movement of Byerly’s head brings his attention down, and the flirtation in his smile sharpens Bastien’s. ]
Strong enough to rescue a respected old rival from a high tower? [ He pulls Byerly’s hand up from his chest to kiss the backs of his talented fingers. ] Where he is kept by his cruel new master: the Marquis Rabat-Joie d’Obligation.
Strong enough to rescue a respected old rival from a high tower? [ He pulls Byerly’s hand up from his chest to kiss the backs of his talented fingers. ] Where he is kept by his cruel new master: the Marquis Rabat-Joie d’Obligation.
[ At first she means to simply go and wait for Byerly.
And then she thinks the office is right there, only a slight diversion of course. And she thinks she could practice; practice making what she'd learned not sound as if it was hers too. And because it would not be hers, and because it touches Byerly nearly, and because sometimes in things like this she stumbles over rough terrain she cannot see and says something that goes ill and then he says exactly what hurts most and then she does and then they fight in earnest, driven by that dual agony of hurting and being hurt by someone beloved...
Well, there are many reasons she ends up instead in the door to the Jeshavis office first. ]
Bastien, tu as un moment?
And then she thinks the office is right there, only a slight diversion of course. And she thinks she could practice; practice making what she'd learned not sound as if it was hers too. And because it would not be hers, and because it touches Byerly nearly, and because sometimes in things like this she stumbles over rough terrain she cannot see and says something that goes ill and then he says exactly what hurts most and then she does and then they fight in earnest, driven by that dual agony of hurting and being hurt by someone beloved...
Well, there are many reasons she ends up instead in the door to the Jeshavis office first. ]
Bastien, tu as un moment?
Toujours, Madame.
[ For the first moment he intends to finish writing the name he’s begun putting to paper. But it is a very long name, and when he needs to write neatly he only accomplishes it slowly, and she is asking for his time at the door instead of fluttering to her desk and chattering at will.
So Mr Schw will have to wait for his remaining syllables, he decides. He sets the pen aside as he looks up. ]
[ For the first moment he intends to finish writing the name he’s begun putting to paper. But it is a very long name, and when he needs to write neatly he only accomplishes it slowly, and she is asking for his time at the door instead of fluttering to her desk and chattering at will.
So Mr Schw will have to wait for his remaining syllables, he decides. He sets the pen aside as he looks up. ]
[ It's a grateful look— a little tentative, but mostly grateful— and then she comes in enough to shut the door behind her. For a moment she is still, flickering through choices in her mind and holding them up one after another as if trying to decide which earrings best accompany her dress, and then she comes to sit in one of the chairs at his desk rather than going to her own. ]
I had tea with Miss Poppell this afternoon.
[ Orlesian still, the sovereign language of the office. ]
I had offered to find out more about why she and Byerly had fought, and why she now entirely refuses to speak with him.
[ She doesn't know if it had come up between the two men, but if there is ever a moment to affirm their relationship that is the road she chooses, and so the news is delivered as if she believes it has. ]
I had tea with Miss Poppell this afternoon.
[ Orlesian still, the sovereign language of the office. ]
I had offered to find out more about why she and Byerly had fought, and why she now entirely refuses to speak with him.
[ She doesn't know if it had come up between the two men, but if there is ever a moment to affirm their relationship that is the road she chooses, and so the news is delivered as if she believes it has. ]
[ It's news to him, his face establishes with tiny shifts toward curious and concerned, but there's no doubt or hurt tagging along. Not that there would be any evidence if they did, either. But they don't. Curiosity and concern aside, he's still smiling.
Her proximity and the topic—personal, not professional—settle him slouchier into his chair, which he was already using crookedly. He folds his hands over his middle. ]
Was it because they both have such sedate and tepid personalities?
Her proximity and the topic—personal, not professional—settle him slouchier into his chair, which he was already using crookedly. He folds his hands over his middle. ]
Was it because they both have such sedate and tepid personalities?
[ Wryly— ] Just so. [ —and back to business: ]
He expressed frustration in having no idea at all what her quarrel might be—
[ She sighs, and wilts just enough to notice. ]
But for all he wishes to know, I do not think he will be pleased with her... litany.
I shall have as light a touch as I can, but... I have so often stepped wrong of a sudden and turned my ankle in conversation with him that I thought it prudent to inform you in case he is wroth later and it is due to me.
He expressed frustration in having no idea at all what her quarrel might be—
[ She sighs, and wilts just enough to notice. ]
But for all he wishes to know, I do not think he will be pleased with her... litany.
I shall have as light a touch as I can, but... I have so often stepped wrong of a sudden and turned my ankle in conversation with him that I thought it prudent to inform you in case he is wroth later and it is due to me.
[ Midway through, for a moment, he's smiling—fondness for Byerly encompassing fondness for his frustrations, lifting one side of the mouth, and the other his ability to imagine the tone of Wysteria's voice in a litany of complaints, if not precisely the contents of it.
By the conclusion the smile has faded into mild worry with a touch of perplexity. ]
I am sure it will be fine.
By the conclusion the smile has faded into mild worry with a touch of perplexity. ]
I am sure it will be fine.
I am not.
[ It's a little distant, a little fragile, a little tired, and so is the smile that accompanies it.
The morning after the dream they'd all shared had gone hard. Although she's done her best to be a light and genial companion since, she's not been able to truly shake the pallor of it, nor the thought that everything is only one sharp moment away from shattering— and with all the broken fragments old and new strewn haphazardly around them there are so many moments waiting to become sharp.
She straightens herself after a moment, not wishing him to think she'd come to be comforted. ]
But I am glad for your faith and shall attempt to share it.
[ It's a little distant, a little fragile, a little tired, and so is the smile that accompanies it.
The morning after the dream they'd all shared had gone hard. Although she's done her best to be a light and genial companion since, she's not been able to truly shake the pallor of it, nor the thought that everything is only one sharp moment away from shattering— and with all the broken fragments old and new strewn haphazardly around them there are so many moments waiting to become sharp.
She straightens herself after a moment, not wishing him to think she'd come to be comforted. ]
But I am glad for your faith and shall attempt to share it.
[ Bastien’s little smile returns, in acknowledgment.
It’s odd, not to know what to say. He usually knows a thing to say, at least, if not the right thing. A thing that can safely deliver everyone to the conversation’s shore. But he feels a fragility, too—with Alexandrie, not with Byerly. He thinks he might hurt her if he offers outright to tidy up behind her, as if he is the expert and she’s incapable of handling it herself; he thinks she might hurt him if she asks him to, like a tool she can extend to tend to Byerly from a distance.
So he’s left silent for longer than he’d like. Still, because he hasn’t unintentionally fidgeted in twenty years.
Then, tentatively, because it feels like it could go just as wrong—and because it is digging a finger into his own bruise to talk like a supportive friend who will soon disappear for ten chapters and reappear to say congratulations at the wedding— ]
You know, he never—we do not sit around talking about you. Especially now. But before, for as long as I have known him, he has never had an unkind word for you. Nervous words and confused words, and— [ she knows, or he wouldn’t say ] —he really does not care for your husband. But never anything hard and petty. There has always been tenderness at the heart of it.
It’s odd, not to know what to say. He usually knows a thing to say, at least, if not the right thing. A thing that can safely deliver everyone to the conversation’s shore. But he feels a fragility, too—with Alexandrie, not with Byerly. He thinks he might hurt her if he offers outright to tidy up behind her, as if he is the expert and she’s incapable of handling it herself; he thinks she might hurt him if she asks him to, like a tool she can extend to tend to Byerly from a distance.
So he’s left silent for longer than he’d like. Still, because he hasn’t unintentionally fidgeted in twenty years.
Then, tentatively, because it feels like it could go just as wrong—and because it is digging a finger into his own bruise to talk like a supportive friend who will soon disappear for ten chapters and reappear to say congratulations at the wedding— ]
You know, he never—we do not sit around talking about you. Especially now. But before, for as long as I have known him, he has never had an unkind word for you. Nervous words and confused words, and— [ she knows, or he wouldn’t say ] —he really does not care for your husband. But never anything hard and petty. There has always been tenderness at the heart of it.
[ There's enough of the old Alexandrie left to have it come when she needs it; the little distance that lets the seabird calling he only speaks of that tenderness to you, he will not let me know his heart sail away without first winging its loneliness through her eyes.
She wonders if Bastien thinks that is what it is like, between them. Tender. If he thinks her jealous and grasping, thinks she has no reason to be made so brittle with envy to see Byerly open warmly for him.
She doesn't ask. She didn't even want this much; it is like receiving another line of credit from one she is already indebted to. She still makes herself say— ]
I am pleased to hear so.
[ —as if it had put her heart at ease instead of making her want to scream. ]
Except, naturally, that he really does not care for my husband, but I have resigned myself to their relationship being mildly antagonistic at best.
[ She hesitates a moment, and then: ]
Please do not think that in regards to Byerly you must needs be my source of clarity and reassurance. While I may be glad of it, I also cannot help but feel I am somehow making an imposition of myself even if it is offered freely.
She wonders if Bastien thinks that is what it is like, between them. Tender. If he thinks her jealous and grasping, thinks she has no reason to be made so brittle with envy to see Byerly open warmly for him.
She doesn't ask. She didn't even want this much; it is like receiving another line of credit from one she is already indebted to. She still makes herself say— ]
I am pleased to hear so.
[ —as if it had put her heart at ease instead of making her want to scream. ]
Except, naturally, that he really does not care for my husband, but I have resigned myself to their relationship being mildly antagonistic at best.
[ She hesitates a moment, and then: ]
Please do not think that in regards to Byerly you must needs be my source of clarity and reassurance. While I may be glad of it, I also cannot help but feel I am somehow making an imposition of myself even if it is offered freely.
[ Bastien shakes his head, quick and reflexive, at imposition. But he doesn't argue out loud.
Perhaps it's his fault that they can't just talk about it. Perhaps if he'd talked to her when he was hurt and unsure—when he thought Byerly was asking to fool around with him while he only loved her and Bastien wasn't sure he could stand it, when he didn't know what to make of their one foray beyond kissing being sandwiched between Byerly drinking himself stupid over Alexandrie and saying yes to her after all. She did ask him why he was waiting. He'd written, Maybe when you are back. But then he didn't want her to feel sorry about anything when she was so happy, so he didn't.
Or perhaps if he talked to her now, about that morning. Maybe if he put some of his feelings into her hands, they might feel more like members of the same little club, puzzling their way through something difficult together.
But he doesn't want her to feel sorry about anything when she's so unhappy, either. So he doesn't. ]
Well, if he is unreasonable with you about it, [ with all possible fondness, ] we can open the bad wine, when you feel like it, and go through the new Panopoly of Faces to see if there is anything to make fun of.
Perhaps it's his fault that they can't just talk about it. Perhaps if he'd talked to her when he was hurt and unsure—when he thought Byerly was asking to fool around with him while he only loved her and Bastien wasn't sure he could stand it, when he didn't know what to make of their one foray beyond kissing being sandwiched between Byerly drinking himself stupid over Alexandrie and saying yes to her after all. She did ask him why he was waiting. He'd written, Maybe when you are back. But then he didn't want her to feel sorry about anything when she was so happy, so he didn't.
Or perhaps if he talked to her now, about that morning. Maybe if he put some of his feelings into her hands, they might feel more like members of the same little club, puzzling their way through something difficult together.
But he doesn't want her to feel sorry about anything when she's so unhappy, either. So he doesn't. ]
Well, if he is unreasonable with you about it, [ with all possible fondness, ] we can open the bad wine, when you feel like it, and go through the new Panopoly of Faces to see if there is anything to make fun of.
[ It should make her happy, the hand extended to her. She should take it; hop over the little stream that divides heavy hearts and light and deliver a little quip and smile the smile that says it is fine and ah, see? friends! Then they might laugh together and talk of nothing and leave knowing no more about one another than when they began. Which isn't friends— it's friendly, but not friends.
And she is not sure that friendly survives all of this. ]
A kind offer.
[ Alexandrie sighs soft through her nose. ]
You are always kind to me, and it makes me worry that you are storing up everything else you have felt in a box on a shelf somewhere.
[ A pause, and then gently: ]
It is not an easy thing we are doing. Who is it that is kind to you when you worry? [ She leaves little space for him to answer before she's appending— ] And if you smile at me and shrug as if it is a thing of no matter or say you do not worry, I will throw my slipper at you. I will throw both of them. And I will eat all of the cashews out of the nut mix.
And she is not sure that friendly survives all of this. ]
A kind offer.
[ Alexandrie sighs soft through her nose. ]
You are always kind to me, and it makes me worry that you are storing up everything else you have felt in a box on a shelf somewhere.
[ A pause, and then gently: ]
It is not an easy thing we are doing. Who is it that is kind to you when you worry? [ She leaves little space for him to answer before she's appending— ] And if you smile at me and shrug as if it is a thing of no matter or say you do not worry, I will throw my slipper at you. I will throw both of them. And I will eat all of the cashews out of the nut mix.
[ For a moment Bastien looks considering and entertained—as if he might enjoy daring her to throw her slippers and vindictively pick through the nuts, to see if she really will. Because he would enjoy it, so long as it stayed friendly. He pretends at catching himself with his shoulders raised, halfway through a shrug, and badly covering it for it by rolling them as if they’re sore. ]
I am very kind to myself.
[ It’s a possibly cashew-forfeiting answer, and certainly an unfair one. A little unfair to Athessa, who Bastien expects would knuckle through the salt in her wounded heart if he asked her to listen to him whine about his relatively good luck. And very unfair to Byerly, who’s gentle with every vulnerability and anxiety he works himself around to voicing. But under the circumstances—general and specific, with her only stopped here before going up for a conversation she fears will go badly—telling Alexandrie how sweet Byerly is to him seems cruel.
For the sake of the cashews, he adds, ]
But I do worry. Of course I do.
[ About the three of them. About what he matters to Alexandrie more than about what he matters to Byerly, lately. About the two of them entwined half-dressed on the bed he hadn’t been able to sit on, the my Byerly and the kissing and murmuring about humoring Bastien over his foolish breakfast.
He’d rather step on a spike than unload any of that on her now, though. Instead, compromising, trying more than anything to not leave her feeling alone in having uncertainties: ]
In the beginning I was very sure that he was in love with you and only holding onto my hand because he was scared. I tied myself into all sorts of knots about it.
I am very kind to myself.
[ It’s a possibly cashew-forfeiting answer, and certainly an unfair one. A little unfair to Athessa, who Bastien expects would knuckle through the salt in her wounded heart if he asked her to listen to him whine about his relatively good luck. And very unfair to Byerly, who’s gentle with every vulnerability and anxiety he works himself around to voicing. But under the circumstances—general and specific, with her only stopped here before going up for a conversation she fears will go badly—telling Alexandrie how sweet Byerly is to him seems cruel.
For the sake of the cashews, he adds, ]
But I do worry. Of course I do.
[ About the three of them. About what he matters to Alexandrie more than about what he matters to Byerly, lately. About the two of them entwined half-dressed on the bed he hadn’t been able to sit on, the my Byerly and the kissing and murmuring about humoring Bastien over his foolish breakfast.
He’d rather step on a spike than unload any of that on her now, though. Instead, compromising, trying more than anything to not leave her feeling alone in having uncertainties: ]
In the beginning I was very sure that he was in love with you and only holding onto my hand because he was scared. I tied myself into all sorts of knots about it.
If you feel so still, then we are each of us more sure of the other's place and keeping our fingers busy with sailor's work.
[ She makes it sound lighter than she feels it, but after a few words Alexandrie finds she cannot look at him. Her eyes flick away instead to the dish of nuts— a small cover, although not one she expects to work on Bastien— so she can pick out an almond. She'll show it to him with a little smile before she eats it: vengeance escaped. ]
[ She makes it sound lighter than she feels it, but after a few words Alexandrie finds she cannot look at him. Her eyes flick away instead to the dish of nuts— a small cover, although not one she expects to work on Bastien— so she can pick out an almond. She'll show it to him with a little smile before she eats it: vengeance escaped. ]
[ He swipes two fingers over his forehead to mime swiping away sweat in relief, with a smile not quite as little as hers. Smaller than it would be, though, if she hadn't needed to look away. ]
I don't. Not like I did before. I think nearly everyone's certainty about nearly everything wobbles, but that's only wobbles, you know, it's not...
[ He trails off; his smile widens. ]
But I am still sure of your place, too. I didn't have to trade. [ He reaches for one of his precious cashews, and his tone goes sing-song and teasing, as if they are back in the city, young again, with everything lighter. ] He has it sooo bad for you.
I don't. Not like I did before. I think nearly everyone's certainty about nearly everything wobbles, but that's only wobbles, you know, it's not...
[ He trails off; his smile widens. ]
But I am still sure of your place, too. I didn't have to trade. [ He reaches for one of his precious cashews, and his tone goes sing-song and teasing, as if they are back in the city, young again, with everything lighter. ] He has it sooo bad for you.
[ It should make her happy, the teasing. It should make her laugh and throw nuts at him with a sparkle in her eyes and a flush of colour in her cheeks.
Instead it rips her heart out because it falls so easily off Bastien's lips and she has to drag it from Byerly with her fingernails and it feels like a scrapbook of every time she broke herself open and he turned away.
She doesn't cry, at least. Or blanch, or freeze, or run. She speaks, softly: ]
He does not trust me enough to say so, and were he to... I am not sure I trust him enough to truly believe.
[ Then she is back at the bowl, hunting for almonds with a wan smile. ]
I think perhaps you think us easier with one another than we are.
Instead it rips her heart out because it falls so easily off Bastien's lips and she has to drag it from Byerly with her fingernails and it feels like a scrapbook of every time she broke herself open and he turned away.
She doesn't cry, at least. Or blanch, or freeze, or run. She speaks, softly: ]
He does not trust me enough to say so, and were he to... I am not sure I trust him enough to truly believe.
[ Then she is back at the bowl, hunting for almonds with a wan smile. ]
I think perhaps you think us easier with one another than we are.
Maybe so.
[ He was there for some of the miscommunication and despair. He was also there for the paeans and herb kingdoms. Perhaps he's overestimating the prevalence of the latter. And that wan smile isn't what he wanted, short-term, with his teasing. But that she's talking to him is what he wanted, longer-term, so he won't beat himself up too badly for the miscalculation.
He holds out a hand, palm flat, in silent request for a cashew. Or whatever else she'd like to give him. He isn't so picky. ]
Have you talked to him about—about Val Royeaux? About where he went afterwards? How it was?
[ He was there for some of the miscommunication and despair. He was also there for the paeans and herb kingdoms. Perhaps he's overestimating the prevalence of the latter. And that wan smile isn't what he wanted, short-term, with his teasing. But that she's talking to him is what he wanted, longer-term, so he won't beat himself up too badly for the miscalculation.
He holds out a hand, palm flat, in silent request for a cashew. Or whatever else she'd like to give him. He isn't so picky. ]
Have you talked to him about—about Val Royeaux? About where he went afterwards? How it was?
No.
[ She finds him some. One, two; the little curled crescents deftly picked from the mix and deposited into the waiting hand. ]
Some. Not as we should speak. I think perhaps the both of us are avoiding it, or allowing the other to.
I do not even know what he did that night.
[ And she doesn't want to ask. Not only because it will hurt to hear, but because she doesn't want him to ask her what she had done. It is the first stone of the soulless road she paved, and thinking too closely of it now— thinking too closely about near everything in those silent years— is like looking directly at the sun.
So she doesn't. ]
[ She finds him some. One, two; the little curled crescents deftly picked from the mix and deposited into the waiting hand. ]
Some. Not as we should speak. I think perhaps the both of us are avoiding it, or allowing the other to.
I do not even know what he did that night.
[ And she doesn't want to ask. Not only because it will hurt to hear, but because she doesn't want him to ask her what she had done. It is the first stone of the soulless road she paved, and thinking too closely of it now— thinking too closely about near everything in those silent years— is like looking directly at the sun.
So she doesn't. ]
Mm.
[ It is the only polite thing to say while he’s chewing. After he’s swallowed, though— ]
I hate to give advice, because then if it goes badly it is my fault. [ A joke. Sort of. ] And I don’t know how things are for the two of you when I am not there, you know, making them much worse.
[ Also a joke; also only sort of. ]
I think it is hard to talk to someone about how they have hurt you unless you don’t mind hurting them back. But I think if I were hurt—if I were capable of being hurt— [ One last joke for the road, with a wry little smile, because he doesn’t expect her to believe that old spy’s lie. ] —then knowing that the person who hurt me understood what it meant for me, feeling like they could carry that with me—it would be a step. [ Again: ] I think.
[ He thinks of Byerly, younger and even skinnier and selling his violin to scrape by, and his default pleasant expression dips for a moment. But then it’s back. ]
I also think I do not really know what I am doing, most of the time, so...
[ It is the only polite thing to say while he’s chewing. After he’s swallowed, though— ]
I hate to give advice, because then if it goes badly it is my fault. [ A joke. Sort of. ] And I don’t know how things are for the two of you when I am not there, you know, making them much worse.
[ Also a joke; also only sort of. ]
I think it is hard to talk to someone about how they have hurt you unless you don’t mind hurting them back. But I think if I were hurt—if I were capable of being hurt— [ One last joke for the road, with a wry little smile, because he doesn’t expect her to believe that old spy’s lie. ] —then knowing that the person who hurt me understood what it meant for me, feeling like they could carry that with me—it would be a step. [ Again: ] I think.
[ He thinks of Byerly, younger and even skinnier and selling his violin to scrape by, and his default pleasant expression dips for a moment. But then it’s back. ]
I also think I do not really know what I am doing, most of the time, so...
Edited 2021-04-19 13:20 (UTC)
[ For a little while she is quiet, considering. Thinking of how often it is that they are strangers to each other— she and Byerly. The violent dichotomy of their intimacy; how quickly a moment of incredible softness turns to the heat of her fear fueled rage and the chill of his withdrawal. How the closer they hold one another, the easier it is to tear one another to shreds when they stray from knowing into nothing.
If there were more knowing, perhaps...
Finally: ]
You do not make things worse, Bastien. Telling a man who is unaware he has taken a wound that he bleeds is not the cause of the bleeding.
[ She'd been palming cashews as she picked them out, one tucked away for every one she'd revealed. She puts them on the desk now, a little offering. ]
You make things better. It is better to know.
If there were more knowing, perhaps...
Finally: ]
You do not make things worse, Bastien. Telling a man who is unaware he has taken a wound that he bleeds is not the cause of the bleeding.
[ She'd been palming cashews as she picked them out, one tucked away for every one she'd revealed. She puts them on the desk now, a little offering. ]
You make things better. It is better to know.
[ Bastien nods, smiles wider for the additional cashew bounty, and picks one up. ]
Thank you. [ For the cashews, for the kind correction. He splits the nut in half with his nail rather than eat it straight away. ] Tell me how it goes—your conversation about Miss Poppell. Or if I do not see or hear from you until tomorrow I will just assume it went very well.
Thank you. [ For the cashews, for the kind correction. He splits the nut in half with his nail rather than eat it straight away. ] Tell me how it goes—your conversation about Miss Poppell. Or if I do not see or hear from you until tomorrow I will just assume it went very well.
Or very poorly.
[ A joke, like his: sort of. But when she gets up and brushes her hands lightly down her skirt to set it hanging properly she is looking at him again. And if her smile is not a broad bright thing, it is at least not sad. ]
I will. [ A pause, and— ] Thank you.
[ A joke, like his: sort of. But when she gets up and brushes her hands lightly down her skirt to set it hanging properly she is looking at him again. And if her smile is not a broad bright thing, it is at least not sad. ]
I will. [ A pause, and— ] Thank you.
Hi--um, is this Bastien?
[ These crystals sure are imprecise compared to a phone!!! ]
[ These crystals sure are imprecise compared to a phone!!! ]
My name's Beth. Someone told me you're a musician--but if you're in the middle of something, I can leave you alone.
Oh--okay.
[ Except now what. ]
So, um. What do you play?
[ Except now what. ]
So, um. What do you play?
Yeah.
[ A pause. ]
Do you do it for fun? Or with Riftwatch?
[ A pause. ]
Do you do it for fun? Or with Riftwatch?
Piano. And guitar. They're, um--someone told me you don't have those here. They're like harpsichords and lutes. And I sing.
They're the same...I think. I'll talk to her, if I get a chance.
What do you do for Riftwatch? When they stick you behind a desk, I mean.
What do you do for Riftwatch? When they stick you behind a desk, I mean.
So you're like a spy diplomat.
Yeah, I was.
Yeah, I was.
[ There's a pause. ]
...Not really. But I can.
...Not really. But I can.
I'm not busy at all. [ Tentatively, but not at all unfriendly. And then, a joke-- ] Pretty sure I'm not allowed to do anything for a couple weeks, anyway.
[ So anyway, she'll come up to the office. It takes a little time to figure out where it actually is, but eventually, there's a girl with long blonde hair in a ponytail, two sets of stitches around her eyes, and an unseasonably thick scarf around her throat, opening the door like she's not sure she has the right place. ]
Hi.
[ So anyway, she'll come up to the office. It takes a little time to figure out where it actually is, but eventually, there's a girl with long blonde hair in a ponytail, two sets of stitches around her eyes, and an unseasonably thick scarf around her throat, opening the door like she's not sure she has the right place. ]
Hi.
Hello—Beth?
[ Must be.
The office has two desks, but Bastien’s not at either of them. He’s dragged his chair nearer to the room’s bookshelf, where one of the lower shelves has been doubling as a foot rest, but now he’s snapping his book shut again and standing up. ]
Water or wine?
[ Must be.
The office has two desks, but Bastien’s not at either of them. He’s dragged his chair nearer to the room’s bookshelf, where one of the lower shelves has been doubling as a foot rest, but now he’s snapping his book shut again and standing up. ]
Water or wine?
Oh, uh--water's fine.
[ They drink a lot of wine around here, don't they? She walks over, pausing not quite within reach of him. ]
This is pretty nice for an office.
[ A lot better than the last ones she found herself in, anyway. ]
[ They drink a lot of wine around here, don't they? She walks over, pausing not quite within reach of him. ]
This is pretty nice for an office.
[ A lot better than the last ones she found herself in, anyway. ]
That is Madame d’Asgard’s doing.
[ The curtains, the decor, the general sensibility—all hers, along with the second unoccupied desk.
He steps away from his papers to retrieve a pitcher and cups, and while he does he gestures to his desk chair, where the long neck of a lute peeking over the surface of the desk in front of it. ]
I have that, if you want to see how it compares. Or tell me how it is different from what you are used to. Maybe we have something similar and call it by another name.
[ The curtains, the decor, the general sensibility—all hers, along with the second unoccupied desk.
He steps away from his papers to retrieve a pitcher and cups, and while he does he gestures to his desk chair, where the long neck of a lute peeking over the surface of the desk in front of it. ]
I have that, if you want to see how it compares. Or tell me how it is different from what you are used to. Maybe we have something similar and call it by another name.
[ Beth walks around to the chair and the instrument beside it. Shiny wood and an intricately carved soundhole, like a flower blooming under the strings, the head bent back. And it's definitely not a guitar: the neck's too wide, the body's reminiscent of an egg sliced in half. ]
Holy crap. [ That's under her breath. To Bastien, she says-- ] It's, uh, a lot of strings. But it's beautiful.
[ And he said she could see how it compares, so that probably means she can touch it, right? She looks up at him questioningly, a hand stretching out to pick it up by its broad neck, before actually taking hold of it and trying to figure out how to hold it. Her best guess is basically like a guitar--under her right arm, balanced against her thigh--and once it's safely tucked in against her side, she strums the strings experimentally. All of them first, then each set of two, getting a sense of the sound.
It feels about a million times more delicate than an actual guitar, partly because it belongs to someone else and partly because it's so much lighter than what she's used to. Everything about it is finely made. ]
It's...kinda close. [ The notes for each open string are just slightly off, but she's not about to retune it to what she's used to hearing. ] Like a twelve-string guitar. But a different shape. And this fingerboard's huge.
Holy crap. [ That's under her breath. To Bastien, she says-- ] It's, uh, a lot of strings. But it's beautiful.
[ And he said she could see how it compares, so that probably means she can touch it, right? She looks up at him questioningly, a hand stretching out to pick it up by its broad neck, before actually taking hold of it and trying to figure out how to hold it. Her best guess is basically like a guitar--under her right arm, balanced against her thigh--and once it's safely tucked in against her side, she strums the strings experimentally. All of them first, then each set of two, getting a sense of the sound.
It feels about a million times more delicate than an actual guitar, partly because it belongs to someone else and partly because it's so much lighter than what she's used to. Everything about it is finely made. ]
It's...kinda close. [ The notes for each open string are just slightly off, but she's not about to retune it to what she's used to hearing. ] Like a twelve-string guitar. But a different shape. And this fingerboard's huge.
[ He looks less keen-eyed than he is, while he watches—interested most of all in how careful she is with it. How comfortable he would be letting her take it out of his sight. He’s considering it. So far, it’s likely. ]
You are used to fewer strings? [ If the fingerboard of her guitar is smaller, ] Maybe you would feel more at home on a mandolin.
[ He comes closer. ]
Has it been a hobby or a profession, for you?
You are used to fewer strings? [ If the fingerboard of her guitar is smaller, ] Maybe you would feel more at home on a mandolin.
[ He comes closer. ]
Has it been a hobby or a profession, for you?
We had those at home. Mandolins. I never tried one, but--
[ But I could try. The look on her face might say it, familiarity creating the smile on her face. She gets a hand around the fingerboard, pressing down on the strings without strumming or picking at them; right now, she's as interested in the feel of it as she is the sound.
It's been a while since she got to play something like this. ]
Just a hobby. I kinda wanted to be a musician after high school, but...[ Beth shrugs, the corners of her mouth tugging down again. ] It didn't work out that way.
[ But I could try. The look on her face might say it, familiarity creating the smile on her face. She gets a hand around the fingerboard, pressing down on the strings without strumming or picking at them; right now, she's as interested in the feel of it as she is the sound.
It's been a while since she got to play something like this. ]
Just a hobby. I kinda wanted to be a musician after high school, but...[ Beth shrugs, the corners of her mouth tugging down again. ] It didn't work out that way.
[ She shakes her head, attention returning to the neck of the lute. The more she holds it, the more she thinks she could get used to it. ]
No.
[ She tries a chord, or her best guess at one--some of the open strings sound the same, some don't. It's mildly discordant, close but no cigar. And Beth's hoping it's a good distraction from the fact that she's not elaborating. A self-conscious little laugh escapes her. ]
Looks like I'm gonna have to take some lessons.
No.
[ She tries a chord, or her best guess at one--some of the open strings sound the same, some don't. It's mildly discordant, close but no cigar. And Beth's hoping it's a good distraction from the fact that she's not elaborating. A self-conscious little laugh escapes her. ]
Looks like I'm gonna have to take some lessons.
[ Bastien's not easily distracted, but he is willing not to press where pressing seems unwelcome, so he smiles like he's forgotten all about the mystery. ]
You are so close. Why don't you borrow it for a while? See what you can manage without me staring at you, and then if you have questions you can bring it back by whenever you like.
You are so close. Why don't you borrow it for a while? See what you can manage without me staring at you, and then if you have questions you can bring it back by whenever you like.
[ Her eyes widen, one hand instinctively tightening around the neck of the lute. It's a silent yes, even if what she really wants to ask is really? ]
I'll bring it back soon. [ I'll take good care of it. But he wouldn't offer if he didn't think she would, unless he's crazy rich. ] And--maybe you can show me a song on it.
[ For now, she sets it aside and comes over to her water glass. ]
Do you like it here?
I'll bring it back soon. [ I'll take good care of it. But he wouldn't offer if he didn't think she would, unless he's crazy rich. ] And--maybe you can show me a song on it.
[ For now, she sets it aside and comes over to her water glass. ]
Do you like it here?
Bastien! How's the mustache coming?
[A terrible thought suddenly occurs to Edgard.]
O-or is it? Maybe it's not. That's alright. You look fine. You look great. I mean, I assume I can't actually-- [A deep sigh and a small thunk as Edgard claps his own hand over his mouth. This is a sensitive topic and he already stepped in it.]
[A terrible thought suddenly occurs to Edgard.]
O-or is it? Maybe it's not. That's alright. You look fine. You look great. I mean, I assume I can't actually-- [A deep sigh and a small thunk as Edgard claps his own hand over his mouth. This is a sensitive topic and he already stepped in it.]
[Edgard sighs, tremendously relieved, and laughs in response.]
Not certain. Perhaps a little. But it does sound like you can afford a lot more drinks than you could before.
[Is it the mustache or the lack of mustache that makes the difference? Edgard isn't sure.]
Not certain. Perhaps a little. But it does sound like you can afford a lot more drinks than you could before.
[Is it the mustache or the lack of mustache that makes the difference? Edgard isn't sure.]
[Edgard scoffs a little. Who, him? Never]
It was not, but yes I will take you up on that offer. Must see the progress in person.
Should we meet? [Another dark thought.]
Will I know that it's you? Seen you with mustache and without, but not--
[Long humming noise.]
Whatever is in between.
It was not, but yes I will take you up on that offer. Must see the progress in person.
Should we meet? [Another dark thought.]
Will I know that it's you? Seen you with mustache and without, but not--
[Long humming noise.]
Whatever is in between.
À bientôt.
[ And soon, he is waiting on the dock for the ferry, with a smoke and his horrible facial hair.
Or, really, his facial hair is fine. It's a few days away from being a full and respectable beard, at most, and once it gets there he'll shave away everything but the mustache.
He waves at Edgard, when he sees him, just in case the fellow was serious about not being able to recognize him. ]
[ And soon, he is waiting on the dock for the ferry, with a smoke and his horrible facial hair.
Or, really, his facial hair is fine. It's a few days away from being a full and respectable beard, at most, and once it gets there he'll shave away everything but the mustache.
He waves at Edgard, when he sees him, just in case the fellow was serious about not being able to recognize him. ]
Edited 2021-05-24 19:14 (UTC)
[Edgard approaches on the docks and waves back, laughing, and approaches.]
This is not horrible! [He's almost indignant.] This is a beard! I expected-- [He measures a small space between his thumb and forefinger] tiiny mustache.
[He frowns and narrows his eyes, examining it.]
You look older.
This is not horrible! [He's almost indignant.] This is a beard! I expected-- [He measures a small space between his thumb and forefinger] tiiny mustache.
[He frowns and narrows his eyes, examining it.]
You look older.
Edited (a stupid reason) 2021-05-26 02:15 (UTC)
You think so? Maybe I should keep it.
[ He’s been at war against his own baby face for his whole life.
Lower, to explain the speed, ] I would not have let you all maim me if I did not know I could fix it quickly.
You cleaned for Satinalia, I remember. You were barely recognizable.
[ He’s been at war against his own baby face for his whole life.
Lower, to explain the speed, ] I would not have let you all maim me if I did not know I could fix it quickly.
You cleaned for Satinalia, I remember. You were barely recognizable.
You recognized me and so did a number of others. Was not nearly as good a costume as I thought it would be.
[Edgard shrugs and strokes his beard.]
Grew back very quickly though. Like you. [Edgard smiles.] didn't seem like you were unconcerned in the moment. It was hard for you, I could tell.
[After all, Edgard understands feeling forced into looking a certain way. He pauses a moment.]
Maybe you should keep it. But, if you're going to be older, you must also be wiser. I should know.
[He crosses his arms over his chest and nods definitively.]
[Edgard shrugs and strokes his beard.]
Grew back very quickly though. Like you. [Edgard smiles.] didn't seem like you were unconcerned in the moment. It was hard for you, I could tell.
[After all, Edgard understands feeling forced into looking a certain way. He pauses a moment.]
Maybe you should keep it. But, if you're going to be older, you must also be wiser. I should know.
[He crosses his arms over his chest and nods definitively.]
Because you are forty-four? [ He grins, watching the ferry slowly make its way toward them from across the bay. ] That does seem like a wise age.
[ He's quiet, and then he's honest. ]
I was bare-faced until I was nearly thirty—I think. [ He drops his voice, like audible parenthesis. ] I am not sure when I was born, so I am always guessing a little. [ End parenthesis. ] I was a bard until then. And I did not like who I was anymore, so I quit, and I grew a mustache.
[ He pets that part of his beard with some affection. ]
It is a little superstitious, to be so attached to it. But I don't want to go back, you know?
[ He's quiet, and then he's honest. ]
I was bare-faced until I was nearly thirty—I think. [ He drops his voice, like audible parenthesis. ] I am not sure when I was born, so I am always guessing a little. [ End parenthesis. ] I was a bard until then. And I did not like who I was anymore, so I quit, and I grew a mustache.
[ He pets that part of his beard with some affection. ]
It is a little superstitious, to be so attached to it. But I don't want to go back, you know?
[Edgard is quiet and looks out at the reflection on the water as Bastien speaks.]
Not superstitious. [He shakes his head and folds his arms.] Meaningful. You should keep it.
[He strokes his beard.] 'm not wise because of my age, wise because of the beard. Only wise people have them. [He grins, turning to face Bastien now. After a small pause he says, in a lowered voice.]
Why didn't you like who you were?
Not superstitious. [He shakes his head and folds his arms.] Meaningful. You should keep it.
[He strokes his beard.] 'm not wise because of my age, wise because of the beard. Only wise people have them. [He grins, turning to face Bastien now. After a small pause he says, in a lowered voice.]
Why didn't you like who you were?
[ Bastien smiles—also with some affection—and takes a breath before he says, ]
I was the kind of bard who was a spy. [ It’s not uncommon, in Orlais, though also not so common that inviting any traveler with a song inside would be suicidal. That would defeat the point. ] And a thief, and an assassin—not often, but sometimes. Whatever paid well.
[ It’s matter of fact, and he’s still smiling, but it’s a little rueful. ]
You would not have liked me, either. Only people who deserve it, you said—you and your good thieves.
I was the kind of bard who was a spy. [ It’s not uncommon, in Orlais, though also not so common that inviting any traveler with a song inside would be suicidal. That would defeat the point. ] And a thief, and an assassin—not often, but sometimes. Whatever paid well.
[ It’s matter of fact, and he’s still smiling, but it’s a little rueful. ]
You would not have liked me, either. Only people who deserve it, you said—you and your good thieves.
[Edgard's eyes widen and then his brow creases as he digests this information.]
You're right. Probably wouldn't have liked you then. But, you could have been the worst of the worst [A small smile, he doubts this.] and you wouldn't have been who we were after.
[He takes a breath. Since Bastien shared, Edgard might as well clarify.]
We stole from nobles. [He says the word with disgust. He avoids it most of the time.] Used the money to take care of people, common people, who's troubles had gone unnoticed, least of all by those who could help.
[Edgard blushes and shifts a little, fidgeting. He's uncomfortable sharing.]
Don't know why anyone else did it. But, I did it because I didn't like myself before either. [With this, a kind hand is placed on Bastien's shoulder.]
You're right. Probably wouldn't have liked you then. But, you could have been the worst of the worst [A small smile, he doubts this.] and you wouldn't have been who we were after.
[He takes a breath. Since Bastien shared, Edgard might as well clarify.]
We stole from nobles. [He says the word with disgust. He avoids it most of the time.] Used the money to take care of people, common people, who's troubles had gone unnoticed, least of all by those who could help.
[Edgard blushes and shifts a little, fidgeting. He's uncomfortable sharing.]
Don't know why anyone else did it. But, I did it because I didn't like myself before either. [With this, a kind hand is placed on Bastien's shoulder.]
[ Bastien smiles, a lopsided dimply twist that is comforted but not quite cheerful, and briefly leans sideways into the hand on his shoulder in acknowledgment.
Why didn't you like yourself seems too much, given the blushing and fidgeting. Instead— ]
Why aren't you with them anymore?
[ Perhaps that's another sore spot, but not one so obvious he would look (and feel) like an ass for digging into it. ]
Why didn't you like yourself seems too much, given the blushing and fidgeting. Instead— ]
Why aren't you with them anymore?
[ Perhaps that's another sore spot, but not one so obvious he would look (and feel) like an ass for digging into it. ]
[Edgard's breath catches for a second and an emptiness flickers on his face, rushing upward, and he sways a little in the tide of it. Just when it threatens to surge over his head, he shoves it down and snaps his eyes forward.]
Doesn't exist anymore. [He says simply.] Came here because it seemed like the next best option.
[He shrugs and puffs air out his mouth laughing a little, trying to play off the discomfort he just experienced.]
Doesn't exist anymore. [He says simply.] Came here because it seemed like the next best option.
[He shrugs and puffs air out his mouth laughing a little, trying to play off the discomfort he just experienced.]
Ah.
[ For a fraction of a moment, he’d thought perhaps there might be an untapped resource there. Connections for the war. Favors to ask.
Clearly not.
He considers Edgard’s expression, then looks politely away. ]
If you ever want to talk about it…
[ The obvious offer goes unfinished, as he offers a subject change instead. ]
Do you like the work we do here?
[ For a fraction of a moment, he’d thought perhaps there might be an untapped resource there. Connections for the war. Favors to ask.
Clearly not.
He considers Edgard’s expression, then looks politely away. ]
If you ever want to talk about it…
[ The obvious offer goes unfinished, as he offers a subject change instead. ]
Do you like the work we do here?
[He smiles warmly at Bastien. The unfinished offer is appreciated, but will go unacknowledged.]
Do you?
[He asks in response, laughing a little. He raises his hand, he'll answer.]
I like helping people. Know we are helping people, but don't really see it. Before...I could see it.
[He shrugs and smiles grimly.]
Don't feel particularly useful. [Or rather, he feels utterly useless, most of the time.]
Do you?
[He asks in response, laughing a little. He raises his hand, he'll answer.]
I like helping people. Know we are helping people, but don't really see it. Before...I could see it.
[He shrugs and smiles grimly.]
Don't feel particularly useful. [Or rather, he feels utterly useless, most of the time.]
[ With no preamble: ]
I heard back from my last contact.
[ Alexandrie sounds dull and weary. It's not difficult to ascertain what was in the missive, but she reports it all the same. ]
Nothing.
Well. Nothing save the kind and helpful reminder that it is not all that strange an elf should disappear in Val Royeaux.
Do you hate me? I am on the roof of the center tower if you wish to do it in person with wine.
I heard back from my last contact.
[ Alexandrie sounds dull and weary. It's not difficult to ascertain what was in the missive, but she reports it all the same. ]
Nothing.
Well. Nothing save the kind and helpful reminder that it is not all that strange an elf should disappear in Val Royeaux.
Do you hate me? I am on the roof of the center tower if you wish to do it in person with wine.
Edited 2021-06-02 23:32 (UTC)
No.
[ Bastien would not usually be so sloppy as to pause there, in the ambiguity, without intention. The silence is the song he sings to fear to make it sleep—she’s too famous for us now, she has too many engagements to find time to write, it will be fine—running out of verses.
When he remembers to inhale, it’s audible. ]
I don’t hate you. [ Trade. He switches back: ] I’m on my way.
[ He comes from the library, up eight flights of stairs, and at the top thinks—in the midst of a dozen other thoughts—he should have stopped in the office for a cup. But he can already see Alexandrie, so he goes forward instead of back, out into a channel of wind that feels for a moment like it might snatch him up by the jacket and toss him into the bay.
He’s flattening his hair when he comes to a stop beside her. ]
I have to go to Val Royeaux again soon. I will look. Maybe—
[ He’s still out of verses. ]
[ Bastien would not usually be so sloppy as to pause there, in the ambiguity, without intention. The silence is the song he sings to fear to make it sleep—she’s too famous for us now, she has too many engagements to find time to write, it will be fine—running out of verses.
When he remembers to inhale, it’s audible. ]
I don’t hate you. [ Trade. He switches back: ] I’m on my way.
[ He comes from the library, up eight flights of stairs, and at the top thinks—in the midst of a dozen other thoughts—he should have stopped in the office for a cup. But he can already see Alexandrie, so he goes forward instead of back, out into a channel of wind that feels for a moment like it might snatch him up by the jacket and toss him into the bay.
He’s flattening his hair when he comes to a stop beside her. ]
I have to go to Val Royeaux again soon. I will look. Maybe—
[ He’s still out of verses. ]
Maybe she will leap from the shadows and pull your mustache and exclaim 'the student is now the tutor'.
[ Hopeful words, but the tone is more suited to Maybe she got herself tangled up in something she cannot get out of alone. Or Maybe she is being hunted again. Or Maybe you will be able to find the Chevalier who earned his yellow feather with her body in the alleyway.
Surely not that. Athessa is too good for that. She has seen her fight, seen her kill. The traitor whispers come all the same: But is she too good for two? Three?
The ends of the silk scarf wrapped around Alexandrie's hair flutter in the wind, fall when the gust is finished with it. She offers Bastien the bottle without looking. ]
[ Hopeful words, but the tone is more suited to Maybe she got herself tangled up in something she cannot get out of alone. Or Maybe she is being hunted again. Or Maybe you will be able to find the Chevalier who earned his yellow feather with her body in the alleyway.
Surely not that. Athessa is too good for that. She has seen her fight, seen her kill. The traitor whispers come all the same: But is she too good for two? Three?
The ends of the silk scarf wrapped around Alexandrie's hair flutter in the wind, fall when the gust is finished with it. She offers Bastien the bottle without looking. ]
[ Even with her tone as it is, the words make him smile, a crooked little twist that lasts until he's taken the bottle and a drink. That does sound like her. Like something she would do in Kirkwall after making him search for only an hour, instead of half the continent away after weeks and months.
He doesn't notice if the wine is good or not. ]
Yseult wanted her to learn impulse control. [ He offers the bottle back. ] The rest of it was... That was all she asked. Teach her to think before she acts and speaks.
[ And it's the one thing he's sure he, at least, did the worst at, setting it aside for daggers and music and spy games in the city, because the only ways he knew how to teach her to ignore her feelings would have required cutting into them. ]
He doesn't notice if the wine is good or not. ]
Yseult wanted her to learn impulse control. [ He offers the bottle back. ] The rest of it was... That was all she asked. Teach her to think before she acts and speaks.
[ And it's the one thing he's sure he, at least, did the worst at, setting it aside for daggers and music and spy games in the city, because the only ways he knew how to teach her to ignore her feelings would have required cutting into them. ]
But you cannot teach someone to think.
You must give them opportunities to learn for themselves that they must.
[ Now she looks at him, her eyes pale and clear and fragile in their uncertainty. In the way they beg for confirmation. ]
You must give them opportunities to learn for themselves that they must.
[ Now she looks at him, her eyes pale and clear and fragile in their uncertainty. In the way they beg for confirmation. ]
[ First he thinks, so it isn't a nod only because she is begging for one. He thinks about the difference between a child told the fire is hot and a child who touches the flame—and himself and perhaps Alexandrie, children with their hands held over it until they learn to converse merrily despite the heat—so it is a nod because he believes it. ]
She was ready to go, Alexandrie. She wanted to go. And if I had thought it was too soon, I would have— [ Stopped it is perhaps overstating his stubbornness and his ability to boss either of them around. ] —I would have asked you if you were sure.
[ He holds his hand up, arm crooked. A gesture ambiguous enough, by design so well-practiced on heartbroken women above his station that it's thoughtless now, to be taken with equal ease as an offer of his hand for her hand, or his arm for her arm, or his shoulder for her head. ]
She was ready to go, Alexandrie. She wanted to go. And if I had thought it was too soon, I would have— [ Stopped it is perhaps overstating his stubbornness and his ability to boss either of them around. ] —I would have asked you if you were sure.
[ He holds his hand up, arm crooked. A gesture ambiguous enough, by design so well-practiced on heartbroken women above his station that it's thoughtless now, to be taken with equal ease as an offer of his hand for her hand, or his arm for her arm, or his shoulder for her head. ]
[ It will be the last— a slow movement to shelter under the lifted wing, a lift of her own arm to lay her palm lightly at the back of his shoulder— because for all the time she has spent standing by herself Alexandrie has always hated to be alone.
She forgets so often, still, that there is such a thing as 'together'. ]
I hate that I do not know if we should search for her. If she needs finding, needs aid, or if by sending it we might compromise her. That we cannot know if we should act, or wait, or grieve.
She forgets so often, still, that there is such a thing as 'together'. ]
I hate that I do not know if we should search for her. If she needs finding, needs aid, or if by sending it we might compromise her. That we cannot know if we should act, or wait, or grieve.
[ The option she chooses is not quite a surprise, but it isn't the one he would have put money on—which is his foolishness, perhaps. After a moment his arm shifts and settles, from delicate pose to warm drape. Like they are ten years younger, drinking in the stern of a borrowed gondola while Byerly puts on a one-man show in the bow.
Or like they are now. Like she is someone who might come and hug him goodbye before sailing for Antiva. ]
Me, too. I don't...
[ He's lost people this way before. A creeping silence, nothing to burn—no, bury. The Dalish bury their dead. But she isn't— ]
Has your husband ever worried you like this?
[ An innocent reach for hope. Tell him how it worked out fine. ]
Or like they are now. Like she is someone who might come and hug him goodbye before sailing for Antiva. ]
Me, too. I don't...
[ He's lost people this way before. A creeping silence, nothing to burn—no, bury. The Dalish bury their dead. But she isn't— ]
Has your husband ever worried you like this?
[ An innocent reach for hope. Tell him how it worked out fine. ]
[ Alexandrie does not hide it when she startles; doesn't make excuse for the small hunch of her shoulders by brushing away a 'bug' or turning it into a shiver at the wind.
Perhaps it is because through the conscious exercise of her honesty she is becoming too slow, or too uncareful, or because she is trying to trust. Perhaps it is because she has been carrying the yawning emptiness of her secret for such a long time and she is weary and wants it to be found.
She still papers it over with something else. ]
I thought him dead once. Almost precisely two years ago, now. I would not believe it because I knew I could not survive such a thing. Lord Thor let me keep vigil as if I had been wife, even though it was over nothing but memory and artifact, and in the morning I went to the public memorial like a dead thing myself, wearing a wedding gown that I thought would never see its true use.
[ A sidelong look, a little smile that does not match the paleness of her cheeks. ]
And then I wore it again to be married.
It was also your memorial, yes? And here you are.
Perhaps it is because through the conscious exercise of her honesty she is becoming too slow, or too uncareful, or because she is trying to trust. Perhaps it is because she has been carrying the yawning emptiness of her secret for such a long time and she is weary and wants it to be found.
She still papers it over with something else. ]
I thought him dead once. Almost precisely two years ago, now. I would not believe it because I knew I could not survive such a thing. Lord Thor let me keep vigil as if I had been wife, even though it was over nothing but memory and artifact, and in the morning I went to the public memorial like a dead thing myself, wearing a wedding gown that I thought would never see its true use.
[ A sidelong look, a little smile that does not match the paleness of her cheeks. ]
And then I wore it again to be married.
It was also your memorial, yes? And here you are.
Edited 2021-06-10 02:36 (UTC)
[ That crush of reuniting lovers and friends, on their return from the desert, had made him feel as lonely as he’d ever felt in his life—but it was a long time ago. So long ago he is sure it wouldn’t happen the same way now, and so long ago that it wasn’t what he meant when he asked. So long ago he wouldn’t expect the memory of it to curl her shoulders that way.
Still, it’s the hope he wanted. His gaze is distant and thoughtful, but he smiles at his faraway point, and he doesn’t press his thumb against the thin, bruising skin of her thoughts to try splitting them open. He thinks about how long it has been since he’s seen her husband stalking through the Gallows, how long since he’s heard any complaints about his existence among the Hightown gossips, thinks about Athessa, thinks about the day Alexandrie laughed off his questions about her time as a bard and the day she told him about watching her husband read.
So he slips a hidden thought of his own into her hand. Not for trade. For safekeeping. ]
My little sister would be her… is Athessa's age, I hope. Somewhere.
[ When he was a young cellist in Val Royeaux, if anyone asked, he'd sprouted up without tending or origin, like a weed between the cobblestones in the city. No parents. No siblings. No little girl, with sharp bones like an underfed kitten, who held onto his ankle and dragged behind him halfway to the door the last time he walked out of it. ]
So are you, but that is stranger to think about.
Still, it’s the hope he wanted. His gaze is distant and thoughtful, but he smiles at his faraway point, and he doesn’t press his thumb against the thin, bruising skin of her thoughts to try splitting them open. He thinks about how long it has been since he’s seen her husband stalking through the Gallows, how long since he’s heard any complaints about his existence among the Hightown gossips, thinks about Athessa, thinks about the day Alexandrie laughed off his questions about her time as a bard and the day she told him about watching her husband read.
So he slips a hidden thought of his own into her hand. Not for trade. For safekeeping. ]
My little sister would be her… is Athessa's age, I hope. Somewhere.
[ When he was a young cellist in Val Royeaux, if anyone asked, he'd sprouted up without tending or origin, like a weed between the cobblestones in the city. No parents. No siblings. No little girl, with sharp bones like an underfed kitten, who held onto his ankle and dragged behind him halfway to the door the last time he walked out of it. ]
So are you, but that is stranger to think about.
Edited (clarity? maybe?) 2021-06-10 03:54 (UTC)
[ She wants to acknowledge it, the little piece of offered truth, the way the thread of a little sister appears in the embroidery pattern of what she knows about Bastien and fills in some of the spaces, changes Athessa's context, shifts the meaning of this disappearance to something more than a teacher's fear for a student or a fear for a friend. And so she makes herself still, and presses his shoulder with her fingers for a time in silence.
Then, looking out at the horizon again— ]
Is it more lonely, do you think, to have no-one to love or to love and not know where they are?
[ A question, and also another more present answer to his question. ]
Then, looking out at the horizon again— ]
Is it more lonely, do you think, to have no-one to love or to love and not know where they are?
[ A question, and also another more present answer to his question. ]
[ Bastien inhales slowly, as sure as he wants to be. It isn't his place to tell Byerly; it would be a betrayal to tell Yseult. But, for varying mixtures of personal and professional reasons, he tries not to lie to either of them. So better to only suspect, however strongly. Better to be able to say she hasn't said anything to me, which is slightly different from she hasn't told me. ]
I think— [ His arm tightens when the wind picks up again, like she might need his help not to flutter away. ] I think it is lonelier not to have anyone. But I think it might hurt less. You know how you stop noticing, after a time, if you are very hungry or very cold? It will kill you eventually, but it doesn't hurt anymore.
[ Maybe she doesn't know. In Val Royeaux, before, he would have been certain she didn't. Now it seems possible. ]
When you can smell the food or feel a bit of warmth, but you can't have it, that is when it hurts again. When you start to shake. I think it is like that.
I think— [ His arm tightens when the wind picks up again, like she might need his help not to flutter away. ] I think it is lonelier not to have anyone. But I think it might hurt less. You know how you stop noticing, after a time, if you are very hungry or very cold? It will kill you eventually, but it doesn't hurt anymore.
[ Maybe she doesn't know. In Val Royeaux, before, he would have been certain she didn't. Now it seems possible. ]
When you can smell the food or feel a bit of warmth, but you can't have it, that is when it hurts again. When you start to shake. I think it is like that.
[ The tightened arm around her shoulders to secure her, the way he offers his understanding in the palm of his hand with eyes averted so as to not put the wildness of her to flight— these things would make Alexandrie break into tears if she could, but she cannot. She has strayed close enough to asking him to guard a secret he has no stake in as it is, and she is afraid that if she begins to weep she will never stop.
And so the howls stay in her chest— the he is not here and he has not been here in so long packed neatly next to I do not know where he is and I do not know if he lives, all arrayed above I am alone, alone, alone, and no-one can know— and she remains upright, as if her world still contains the axis on which it turns, using only the memory of what it had felt like to be held with such certainty that there was no room for fear. Still, her nod is slow and careful as if moving too fast will make her spill whatever she holds. ]
It is left to us to trust, I think. In what she knows, in her cleverness and ingenuity.
[ Athessa, although Loki is in the shadow of the words. ]
We must believe she will come back when she is finished with whatever it is she does, and with a fine story for us.
And so the howls stay in her chest— the he is not here and he has not been here in so long packed neatly next to I do not know where he is and I do not know if he lives, all arrayed above I am alone, alone, alone, and no-one can know— and she remains upright, as if her world still contains the axis on which it turns, using only the memory of what it had felt like to be held with such certainty that there was no room for fear. Still, her nod is slow and careful as if moving too fast will make her spill whatever she holds. ]
It is left to us to trust, I think. In what she knows, in her cleverness and ingenuity.
[ Athessa, although Loki is in the shadow of the words. ]
We must believe she will come back when she is finished with whatever it is she does, and with a fine story for us.
Yes.
[ He tries believing it, by force of will. An opportunity to protect the world, or perhaps only a grand adventure, appearing out of the alleys in Val Royeaux, too great to turn from, and Athessa is on horseback in one of the ancient forests where she felt more at home, full of purpose and singing to the trees.
For a moment he wonders what they thought, his brothers and sisters. If they imagined him walking away into something bright, if they imagined him devoured by the city. (It was both; a sunlit gullet.) Or if they didn't imagine anything. If he slipped out of their sight and minds at the same time, like dozens of others after them—like Alexandrie and Byerly, once—and maybe like Athessa now.
But he would rather be forgettable than her be hurt. So until he knows better, she is in the forest.
He slips loose of feeling sorry for himself. Thinks instead through a handful of unsatisfactory explanations for a husband failing to write to his wife for long enough to make Alexandrie so still. ]
We were waylaid by bandits once—Athessa and I. I was still pretending, you know, not to know one end of a dagger from the other, but she handled them all herself, like it was nothing.
[ Loki is in the shadow of that, too. Bastien never saw him fight, but he's made three different people recount the Grand Tourney for him. ]
[ He tries believing it, by force of will. An opportunity to protect the world, or perhaps only a grand adventure, appearing out of the alleys in Val Royeaux, too great to turn from, and Athessa is on horseback in one of the ancient forests where she felt more at home, full of purpose and singing to the trees.
For a moment he wonders what they thought, his brothers and sisters. If they imagined him walking away into something bright, if they imagined him devoured by the city. (It was both; a sunlit gullet.) Or if they didn't imagine anything. If he slipped out of their sight and minds at the same time, like dozens of others after them—like Alexandrie and Byerly, once—and maybe like Athessa now.
But he would rather be forgettable than her be hurt. So until he knows better, she is in the forest.
He slips loose of feeling sorry for himself. Thinks instead through a handful of unsatisfactory explanations for a husband failing to write to his wife for long enough to make Alexandrie so still. ]
We were waylaid by bandits once—Athessa and I. I was still pretending, you know, not to know one end of a dagger from the other, but she handled them all herself, like it was nothing.
[ Loki is in the shadow of that, too. Bastien never saw him fight, but he's made three different people recount the Grand Tourney for him. ]
crystal, sometime in the nebulous void after first meetings;
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
illithidnapped
2021-06-05 02:33 am (UTC)(link)
A moment, if you don't mind, sweetheart.
[He sidesteps what he doesn't understand, perfectly content with the tone itself.]
I’ve an errand that needs running. Quite urgently, I’m afraid.
I’d take care of it myself in a heartbeat, of course, but unfortunately I’m all too aware of the sort of fuss I’d stir up strolling around Hightown on a shopping trip out of my own pocket.
This is where you come in, you see. I’d be ever so grateful if you wouldn’t mind either making a run for me— paid for your trouble, naturally, contrary to popular belief I’m not a monster— or simply acting as a respectable escort. Whatever suits your fancy.
I’ve an errand that needs running. Quite urgently, I’m afraid.
I’d take care of it myself in a heartbeat, of course, but unfortunately I’m all too aware of the sort of fuss I’d stir up strolling around Hightown on a shopping trip out of my own pocket.
This is where you come in, you see. I’d be ever so grateful if you wouldn’t mind either making a run for me— paid for your trouble, naturally, contrary to popular belief I’m not a monster— or simply acting as a respectable escort. Whatever suits your fancy.
None at all. Nothing.
Honest.
[Astarion rarely sounds sincere, but maybe that's why his own urging attempts at sincerity now are so close to the mark that it...makes it difficult to think he's lying. No, in fact, by his own standards, he does in fact sound like he's telling the truth.
But again. Low bar.]
I know what lines not to cross, and I know there’s only so far any of us can push without getting into far too much trouble— no. Shopping only, and only a few trifling things at that.
I value resources over scapegoats, after all.
Honest.
[Astarion rarely sounds sincere, but maybe that's why his own urging attempts at sincerity now are so close to the mark that it...makes it difficult to think he's lying. No, in fact, by his own standards, he does in fact sound like he's telling the truth.
But again. Low bar.]
I know what lines not to cross, and I know there’s only so far any of us can push without getting into far too much trouble— no. Shopping only, and only a few trifling things at that.
I value resources over scapegoats, after all.
Mm, I do love it when people call me a resource.
[ He does not sound sincere. But he does sound very cheerful. Love is an overstatement, but he doesn't mind it, and—byproduct of a mercenary youth—might like it a little. ]
I am already in the city. You can meet me at the bottom of the big stairs up to Hightown, and on the way up you can tell me why it is popularly believed you are a monster.
[ He does not sound sincere. But he does sound very cheerful. Love is an overstatement, but he doesn't mind it, and—byproduct of a mercenary youth—might like it a little. ]
I am already in the city. You can meet me at the bottom of the big stairs up to Hightown, and on the way up you can tell me why it is popularly believed you are a monster.
Good, I won't need to play sweet with you, then. [Some people might take deep, cutting offense to being called a resource, of course. And maybe Bastien does too for all Astarion knows— but he keeps his tone sweet as spun sugar for that reason alone. The coaxing coast of caring fingertips across a faintly stinging mark is always better than just the press of a hand itself, after all.
And so with little delay, true to his word, Astarion is there in short order: pale and pleasantly poised in the full depth of the midday sun, all the more pleased to feel its warmth across skin that's been far too long deprived, dressed (as usual) without any amount of modesty. He does not offer his arm, however, against all typical instinct.
For his own sake, more than Bastien's. Public opinion always holds weight.] Aren't you just as radiant as ever. You know, for a little while I almost wondered if you'd actually wait for me.
I'm glad you did.
And so with little delay, true to his word, Astarion is there in short order: pale and pleasantly poised in the full depth of the midday sun, all the more pleased to feel its warmth across skin that's been far too long deprived, dressed (as usual) without any amount of modesty. He does not offer his arm, however, against all typical instinct.
For his own sake, more than Bastien's. Public opinion always holds weight.] Aren't you just as radiant as ever. You know, for a little while I almost wondered if you'd actually wait for me.
I'm glad you did.
And it is already worth my time. Now I am a radiant resource.
[ He lazily sweeps an arm toward the steps in a shall we gesture and falls in alongside him. They're the same height, white hair and black, and he thinks that if Astarion had worn white they might look like matched chess pieces. To Hightown's eyes—to any Thedosian eyes, really—they might instead look like a human employer and elven employee who traded outfits for the day, save that any snug parts of Astarion's clothes would be snugger on Bastien. Maybe that's why the human employer demanded a swap. ]
Is it like this for elves where you are from?
[ He lazily sweeps an arm toward the steps in a shall we gesture and falls in alongside him. They're the same height, white hair and black, and he thinks that if Astarion had worn white they might look like matched chess pieces. To Hightown's eyes—to any Thedosian eyes, really—they might instead look like a human employer and elven employee who traded outfits for the day, save that any snug parts of Astarion's clothes would be snugger on Bastien. Maybe that's why the human employer demanded a swap. ]
Is it like this for elves where you are from?
You were radiant to begin with, even without my saying so.
No. This is...mm, a new arrangement. [best not to say anything ungracious in general, but especially so right now with the pair of them strutting about like mismatched statues through decorated streets.] As I’m sure you’ve already guessed from my own predilections, High Elves in Faerun were practically the peak of dignified aristocracy. I myself was a respected magistrate, in fact.
Now, first things first before you begin asking after all the sordid little details of my life and all lost loves: we need wine. The most perfect bottle of it, in fact.
No. This is...mm, a new arrangement. [best not to say anything ungracious in general, but especially so right now with the pair of them strutting about like mismatched statues through decorated streets.] As I’m sure you’ve already guessed from my own predilections, High Elves in Faerun were practically the peak of dignified aristocracy. I myself was a respected magistrate, in fact.
Now, first things first before you begin asking after all the sordid little details of my life and all lost loves: we need wine. The most perfect bottle of it, in fact.
[ Bastien can't always stop himself from blushing. It's a fault. He can, however, blush on command, which is what he's doing now. Sort of. It's more that he's allowing it than that he's entirely forcing it, albeit with a squint up at the sun and a moment of shading his face from it like it's to blame. ]
Half of the details will be plenty, merci, [ is a lie. ] Except about this perfect wine. About that I have to know everything.
Half of the details will be plenty, merci, [ is a lie. ] Except about this perfect wine. About that I have to know everything.
A red, naturally. I have taste, thank you. [And a lingering affinity for the color itself, which he won't be delving into even as he slides his own stare sidelong to take in the sight of his companion.
Darling, you'll hurt your precious eyes like that.] Something bold, well-aged. Dare I say riveting, even.
The rest is irrelevant, though do keep in mind I'm dealing with a decent amount of coin, not an infinite supply. Something supposedly kissed by Andraste herself might be well out of the picture, I think.
That said, we could always lead the staff on a bit for a laugh first.
If we wanted to.
Darling, you'll hurt your precious eyes like that.] Something bold, well-aged. Dare I say riveting, even.
The rest is irrelevant, though do keep in mind I'm dealing with a decent amount of coin, not an infinite supply. Something supposedly kissed by Andraste herself might be well out of the picture, I think.
That said, we could always lead the staff on a bit for a laugh first.
If we wanted to.
[ A few strange things: Byerly appears directly in Bastien's office, rather than starting with playful flirtations over the crystal. It's early in the day (meaning before noon). His expression is grim. And as soon as he's entered the office, he closes and latches the door behind him.
No preamble: ]
Flint and Yseult have gone missing.
No preamble: ]
Flint and Yseult have gone missing.
[ Bastien smiles first—small and quizzical, not a disrespectful unconcerned grin, but still a reflexive attempt to never look bothered unless that’s part of the plan.
But it’s Byerly. So the surprise fades, his guard lowers. The smile disappears. He stands up from the desk. ]
How missing?
But it’s Byerly. So the surprise fades, his guard lowers. The smile disappears. He stands up from the desk. ]
How missing?
[ The thought bubbles up and pops. What could kill Yseult and Flint? Unless they met Corypheus himself on the road— ]
We’ll find them.
[ He puts his pen down and comes around the desk. ]
Or they will find us while we are looking. That is something they would do.
We’ll find them.
[ He puts his pen down and comes around the desk. ]
Or they will find us while we are looking. That is something they would do.
No trouble. [ hesitates, and then he admits, ] I want to publish about the refugees in Kirkwall. About them, not what I or anyone else thinks. The locals are seeing outsiders, Vints, strangers. But they're just people, here because of a common enemy, and I think they deserve a chance to speak for themselves. Remind everyone else of that.
[ then, ]
But I don't know the first thing about publishing, if I'm being honest. I have no idea what it'd take to make that happen.
[ then, ]
But I don't know the first thing about publishing, if I'm being honest. I have no idea what it'd take to make that happen.
Edited (icONS) 2021-08-08 15:37 (UTC)
[ Most proposals, Bastien would meet with bartering and details half designed to make the whole enterprise sound daunting, the kind of thing one really does need a professional for—paper size, ink type, length, the extent of the manual labor involved, is Riftwatch paying for this, and how does Jim feel about helping him pull a lever a few hundred times, it's great for your arms—
But this proposal, for reasons he will not be disclosing to any near strangers or to the vast majority of his friends, hits his compassion dead center.
So none of that. ]
It is not so difficult. Especially if it does not need to pay for itself. You could do a pamphlet—or more than one—and we could find some friendly booksellers to stock them. Maybe pull out a few good excerpts for broadsheets.
But this proposal, for reasons he will not be disclosing to any near strangers or to the vast majority of his friends, hits his compassion dead center.
So none of that. ]
It is not so difficult. Especially if it does not need to pay for itself. You could do a pamphlet—or more than one—and we could find some friendly booksellers to stock them. Maybe pull out a few good excerpts for broadsheets.
That sounds perfect. I don't know how many people will be willing to talk, but if it's more than a couple, I think it'd be a good idea not to publish them all at once.
[ there are things he's still learning to be familiar with: after a lifetime of newsfeeds and recordings and hand terminals, the concept of reaching out to broadsheets (for instance) hadn't crossed his mind. the mere thought of the likes of paper size, and ink type, and labor — a printing press, for god's sake — has left him feeling profoundly out of his depth. bastien can suggest anything, and he'll agree, because he isn't the professional here. ]
I'll pay for whatever you need.
[ there are things he's still learning to be familiar with: after a lifetime of newsfeeds and recordings and hand terminals, the concept of reaching out to broadsheets (for instance) hadn't crossed his mind. the mere thought of the likes of paper size, and ink type, and labor — a printing press, for god's sake — has left him feeling profoundly out of his depth. bastien can suggest anything, and he'll agree, because he isn't the professional here. ]
I'll pay for whatever you need.
Edited 2021-08-11 13:14 (UTC)
[ After a short delay: ]
This morning I found a book shop, and then I went for lunch and they served me stew in bread. The bread was the bowl. It is no wonder Reville wanted you so badly.
[ Not quite a direct answer, but the point is he’s had a fantastic morning and noon. ]
It is missing something, though.
This morning I found a book shop, and then I went for lunch and they served me stew in bread. The bread was the bowl. It is no wonder Reville wanted you so badly.
[ Not quite a direct answer, but the point is he’s had a fantastic morning and noon. ]
It is missing something, though.
Oh, yes. And all those cleansed and holy sheep will join us in our fight.
[ One last snicker for posterity, and then he’s more serious: ]
I like it. Denerim. I am saving the real exploring for when I have more time and a charming, clever guide, but what I have seen. It is less brown than I remembered, too. Maybe it was the season.
[ One last snicker for posterity, and then he’s more serious: ]
I like it. Denerim. I am saving the real exploring for when I have more time and a charming, clever guide, but what I have seen. It is less brown than I remembered, too. Maybe it was the season.
[ Byerly is immensely pleased by his assessment. ]
Maker, if I wouldn't be too conspicuous, I'd join you there in a heartbeat. Next time, to be certain.
It isn't a beautiful place - [ A confession - ] But a thing doesn't need to be beautiful to be good. And that's why we'll take our trips back to Val Royeaux. Especially in winter.
Maker, if I wouldn't be too conspicuous, I'd join you there in a heartbeat. Next time, to be certain.
It isn't a beautiful place - [ A confession - ] But a thing doesn't need to be beautiful to be good. And that's why we'll take our trips back to Val Royeaux. Especially in winter.
Oh.
[ He says it out loud only after a pause, when he remembers Byerly can’t see how wide he smiles. Of course Bastien hadn’t imagined he would never see Val Royeaux again. But he also hadn’t imagined visiting with regularity or with company, or another dose of the sturdy comfort he feels whenever Byerly labels something theirs. ]
I do think I like it best in the winter. [ Not his favorite season; predictably, he prefers his days long and sunny. But, ] Once the court leaves for Halamshiral, everyone wears much more comfortable shoes.
[ There’s a creak of wood, and the racket of a busy market made into a murmur by distance; he’s opened the wooden shutters on a window to look outside, up at the sky, which really is just as blue as Orlais’. ]
[ He says it out loud only after a pause, when he remembers Byerly can’t see how wide he smiles. Of course Bastien hadn’t imagined he would never see Val Royeaux again. But he also hadn’t imagined visiting with regularity or with company, or another dose of the sturdy comfort he feels whenever Byerly labels something theirs. ]
I do think I like it best in the winter. [ Not his favorite season; predictably, he prefers his days long and sunny. But, ] Once the court leaves for Halamshiral, everyone wears much more comfortable shoes.
[ There’s a creak of wood, and the racket of a busy market made into a murmur by distance; he’s opened the wooden shutters on a window to look outside, up at the sky, which really is just as blue as Orlais’. ]
Ooooh, [ like a goosebumpy shudder. ] Are you trying to work me up, Monsieur le Cambrioleur?
[ —is a joke. Mostly. If he weren’t standing in a room other people might enter at any time with little warning, in broad daylight, it might not be.
But he is! So, ]
That will be fun. I will never have any trouble finding you in a crowd here, in your silks. Even a crowd that is all tall, skinny, and beautiful.
[ —is a joke. Mostly. If he weren’t standing in a room other people might enter at any time with little warning, in broad daylight, it might not be.
But he is! So, ]
That will be fun. I will never have any trouble finding you in a crowd here, in your silks. Even a crowd that is all tall, skinny, and beautiful.
Yourselves! Leaving your offices! First Flint and Yseult, then you and Stark. What has gotten into the air up there lately?
[ Rhetorical. And hardly any of the Division Heads' faults that they're chained to their desks so often. ]
If you seduced him on the road, I am going to begin thinking you have a mustache problem.
[ Rhetorical. And hardly any of the Division Heads' faults that they're chained to their desks so often. ]
If you seduced him on the road, I am going to begin thinking you have a mustache problem.
[ A laugh that turns into an, ] Aw. I like him.
But alright. You are on your way to an estate to rescue your colleagues. Unaware that I am already stealing the little bit of glory there is to be had, in that area. Not seducing your companion.
And then—
But alright. You are on your way to an estate to rescue your colleagues. Unaware that I am already stealing the little bit of glory there is to be had, in that area. Not seducing your companion.
And then—
Edited 2021-08-14 01:28 (UTC)
Who's the one with a mustache problem now? You egotist. You just like him because he looks like you.
[ Definitely not because he looks and acts like Byerly.
Anyway - ]
We find our way inside. Slowly. Carefully. There's danger afoot, you see - all the more so when we catch sight of someone who's undeniably a mage of Tevinter, indeed. Their robes, unmistakeable, of course. This is a dark place, a place where the scent of blood hangs on the air, where the cries of the tortured come from deep below. The danger to us is great.
But, in a moment of disaster - They find us.
[ Definitely not because he looks and acts like Byerly.
Anyway - ]
We find our way inside. Slowly. Carefully. There's danger afoot, you see - all the more so when we catch sight of someone who's undeniably a mage of Tevinter, indeed. Their robes, unmistakeable, of course. This is a dark place, a place where the scent of blood hangs on the air, where the cries of the tortured come from deep below. The danger to us is great.
But, in a moment of disaster - They find us.
[ His little gasp is nine-tenths just playing along. Of course whatever happened turned out fine; they're alive, and somewhere in this story, someone is supposedly getting hot and bothered.
But there's a tenth of genuine retroactive worry, if they really came so close to harm. ]
No.
But there's a tenth of genuine retroactive worry, if they really came so close to harm. ]
No.
Yes.
[ Incredibly dramatic - ]
They drag us kicking and screaming...is what I would like to say, except that they don't. Because on closer inspection, it turns out that those Tevinter mage robes are even more revealing than the actual Tevinter mage robes are. There's a quick-release leather codpiece involved.
[ Incredibly dramatic - ]
They drag us kicking and screaming...is what I would like to say, except that they don't. Because on closer inspection, it turns out that those Tevinter mage robes are even more revealing than the actual Tevinter mage robes are. There's a quick-release leather codpiece involved.
Oh no.
[ Entirely different tone than that no than the last one—though the smothered laughter is all delight and relief. No judgment. Putting on robes and chaining up Byerly for an "interrogation" after those terrible dreams in Wintermarch didn't leave much room for that. ]
What did you do?
[ Entirely different tone than that no than the last one—though the smothered laughter is all delight and relief. No judgment. Putting on robes and chaining up Byerly for an "interrogation" after those terrible dreams in Wintermarch didn't leave much room for that. ]
What did you do?
Oh, yes.
[ Mingled amusement and embarrassment on his end. Not that there was anything there to make him blush, of course - but it's a rude thing to walk in on uninvited. ]
We had to look around, of course, because that sort of place would be a good cover for keeping someone on actual captivity. Besides which, we couldn't rule out the prospect that Yseult and Flint weren't captured, but escaping to a steamy rendezvous.
[ Mingled amusement and embarrassment on his end. Not that there was anything there to make him blush, of course - but it's a rude thing to walk in on uninvited. ]
We had to look around, of course, because that sort of place would be a good cover for keeping someone on actual captivity. Besides which, we couldn't rule out the prospect that Yseult and Flint weren't captured, but escaping to a steamy rendezvous.
[ A sympathetic noise, for that no. Poor thing. ]
Maybe you should have recruited them.
[ Which reminds him, indirectly— ]
Any last-minute advice for winning over your colleagues here? —it is too late to pretend not to be Orlesian, unfortunately.
Maybe you should have recruited them.
[ Which reminds him, indirectly— ]
Any last-minute advice for winning over your colleagues here? —it is too late to pretend not to be Orlesian, unfortunately.
Edited 2021-08-26 23:08 (UTC)
If I lost a fight, do you think people would believe it?
I would be fighting a person. In the tourney.
No. I think I will win if I try to.
But if everyone saw I was bad at fighting, Nevarra might not wish to execute me.
But if everyone saw I was bad at fighting, Nevarra might not wish to execute me.
Yes. I would have my claws, but I wouldn't use them correctly.
[ There would be no mistaking her identity. ]
Do you think enough people from Nevarra will attend?
[ There would be no mistaking her identity. ]
Do you think enough people from Nevarra will attend?
[ It's certainly not the first time she has ever dropped in, but when it comes to business meetings Yseult is not generally in the habit of calling out rather than waiting (or requiring) for people to come to her. But here she is in front of the Jeshavis desk in the early evening a day or so after her return. She has brought both a bottle of wine and a notebook. ]
I hoped you might fill in anything else I missed. I assume you were involved in seeing to Scouting in my absence. I've read the paperwork, such as it is.
I hoped you might fill in anything else I missed. I assume you were involved in seeing to Scouting in my absence. I've read the paperwork, such as it is.
Of course.
[ Bastien's watching her without subtlety, while he follows that up with a nod and a scooting-aside of what he'd been working on before. He'd heard she was back, maybe glimpsed her, but he could guess her more-or-less correct priorities—work, husband, more work—and let that be enough.
When he stands up and comes around the desk, it's mostly to fetch a chair for her. But that trajectory brings him in reaching distance, and that's what he does. He's a good hugger, for the record. And a conscientious one. It only lasts two seconds before he's stepped back, hand on one of her shoulders instead. ]
You made me doubt your invincibility for a minute there, [ he says, not all that lightly. ]
[ Bastien's watching her without subtlety, while he follows that up with a nod and a scooting-aside of what he'd been working on before. He'd heard she was back, maybe glimpsed her, but he could guess her more-or-less correct priorities—work, husband, more work—and let that be enough.
When he stands up and comes around the desk, it's mostly to fetch a chair for her. But that trajectory brings him in reaching distance, and that's what he does. He's a good hugger, for the record. And a conscientious one. It only lasts two seconds before he's stepped back, hand on one of her shoulders instead. ]
You made me doubt your invincibility for a minute there, [ he says, not all that lightly. ]
[ He'll find her much as she was when she left. Perhaps a little thinner, a little more tired around the eyes, but otherwise unmarked by her absence. She is mildly nonplussed by the embrace--she can see it coming and understand why, but is a little surprised the impulse exists all the same. She touches a palm to his back before it's over, and when it is tips her head sideways with a shift of brows that concedes he may've been right to. ]
It was not the holiday from Riftwatch I'd have chosen.
It was not the holiday from Riftwatch I'd have chosen.
That means you have to take another.
[ He knows very well how unlikely that is, but he says it anyway, and gives her shoulder a light squeeze before he goes to fetch that chair. ]
I got into the place they were holding you, after you were gone. It looked bad.
[ He knows very well how unlikely that is, but he says it anyway, and gives her shoulder a light squeeze before he goes to fetch that chair. ]
I got into the place they were holding you, after you were gone. It looked bad.
[ Yseult follows him with her eyes after that comment, carefully watching what she can see of his expression. ]
Dungeons never look good. [ Her little shrug is not entirely dismissive, but it is deflecting. ] Did you tell anyone other than Stark and Rutyer about it?
Dungeons never look good. [ Her little shrug is not entirely dismissive, but it is deflecting. ] Did you tell anyone other than Stark and Rutyer about it?
No.
[ He answers without looking back at her, but when he’s turned back in her direction with a chair in hand, he smiles a little. He would have told Byerly even if he weren’t a division head; he would have told Yseult, if it had been someone else and she weren’t a division head. How convenient that the people he’s most likely to confide in are also the people most entitled to know things. ]
Maybe I should have told Darras. But I thought the details would not do him any favors, while you were still missing.
[ He answers without looking back at her, but when he’s turned back in her direction with a chair in hand, he smiles a little. He would have told Byerly even if he weren’t a division head; he would have told Yseult, if it had been someone else and she weren’t a division head. How convenient that the people he’s most likely to confide in are also the people most entitled to know things. ]
Maybe I should have told Darras. But I thought the details would not do him any favors, while you were still missing.
[ She steps aside to make a space for him to deposit the chair, before sinking into it, crossing ankles and smoothing her skirt (a deep medium blue like the sky after a summer sunset) over her knees. ]
The right choice, [ she calls it, with an approving nod. ] The more he knows, the more he'll worry. He's always struggled with that aspect of my work.
The right choice, [ she calls it, with an approving nod. ] The more he knows, the more he'll worry. He's always struggled with that aspect of my work.
[ Her gaze slides away, down to her hands folded on her thigh. Another little shrug, both shoulders this time, accompanies her looking back up. ]
He's never liked what I do. Things like this only make it harder. The idea that I would sacrifice-- it's still a difficult concept, for a pirate. [ She smiles, quick and wry. ]
He's never liked what I do. Things like this only make it harder. The idea that I would sacrifice-- it's still a difficult concept, for a pirate. [ She smiles, quick and wry. ]
[ Bastien winces one eye shut, a little playful in an otherwise serious face—hopefully he didn’t just get Darras into trouble, that face says. But the lack of surprise would indicate he hasn’t. ]
Maybe. There are other ways.
[ He thinks for a few seconds, then tilts his head further to indicate a new track. ]
You didn’t tell them anything. [ Not a question. ] Do you think Flint did?
Maybe. There are other ways.
[ He thinks for a few seconds, then tilts his head further to indicate a new track. ]
You didn’t tell them anything. [ Not a question. ] Do you think Flint did?
[ Yseult looks for a second like she might want to argue about the choices Darras could or likely would make in the event of her heroic demise, but stop herself at a twist of her mouth, and instead stands to collect glasses and corkscrew. Bastien didn't think this was just a gift for him to enjoy later, did he?
As he changes the subject, just for a second her shoulders still even as hands keep moving, uncorking the wine. She shakes her head as she tugs it free and pours. ] No. Flint may not have had formal training, but he's well-equipped for such things.
As he changes the subject, just for a second her shoulders still even as hands keep moving, uncorking the wine. She shakes her head as she tugs it free and pours. ] No. Flint may not have had formal training, but he's well-equipped for such things.
[ While she's up and moving, Bastien goes back to the other side of his desk. But only to fetch his chair and bring it around to the front. It's a lesser absurdity than sitting behind it and talking across it, which is something he can barely stand even with people who aren't his superiors. ]
Good.
[ His follow-up questions—what does that mean? are you sure? have you discussed it?—are held back by one gripping fist made of trust in her professionalism and another made of sensitivity. ]
Is there anything else we should be aware of? About how they caught you or what they wanted.
Good.
[ His follow-up questions—what does that mean? are you sure? have you discussed it?—are held back by one gripping fist made of trust in her professionalism and another made of sensitivity. ]
Is there anything else we should be aware of? About how they caught you or what they wanted.
[ They could have sat in the armchairs in her office, arranged before the hearth with the little table alongside in a carefully-constructed scene of informality. But she'd needed to move, the walk down to his floor, the distance from everything waiting in her suite. She regrets it a little now, sliding his wine glass along the edge of the desk and taking a sip of her own before arranging skirts with one neat gesture and sinking back into the chair. She hadn't counted on the immediacy of that faith in her, not unearned but still undeserved.
She shakes her head. ] No. [ There's a dry little laugh in her tone. ] It was nothing but dumb luck. They were passing through Drake's Landing on their way to take Hasmal. They recognized Flint and thought his presence meant we'd learned of their plans. We did our best to keep up that impression as long as possible.
She shakes her head. ] No. [ There's a dry little laugh in her tone. ] It was nothing but dumb luck. They were passing through Drake's Landing on their way to take Hasmal. They recognized Flint and thought his presence meant we'd learned of their plans. We did our best to keep up that impression as long as possible.
Edited (sorry) 2021-10-08 02:34 (UTC)
[ Yseult's head tips, brows shifting. Let's hope, they say. A little horrifying to think that this might be them with dumb luck. She lets out a breath, straightens, and then eases back into a more casual posture, an elbow hooked over the chairback. ]
How were things, in our absence? Nothing seems to have burned. My files appear--mostly in order. No one sprang the trap in the desk. [ She smiles, like it might be a joke. (Of course it's not.) ]
How were things, in our absence? Nothing seems to have burned. My files appear--mostly in order. No one sprang the trap in the desk. [ She smiles, like it might be a joke. (Of course it's not.) ]
What did you say— [It's a hiss. His voice sounds so uncharacteristically rough for it, almost feral.] Who. Who did you tell.
[ The great and terrible thing about sending crystals, with their lack of any visual indicator save a you have messages glow, is that it's very easy to pretend not to be home. Or, in this specific case, to receive a furious and very vague message while he's working, and then let it sit there unanswered for three minutes while he continues what he was doing and thinks things through.
When he does respond, he sounds as taken off-guard as if he'd just heard it the moment before. ]
Astarion? [ Is your voice ok there bro. ] What happened?
When he does respond, he sounds as taken off-guard as if he'd just heard it the moment before. ]
Astarion? [ Is your voice ok there bro. ] What happened?
[The benefit of three minutes is that Astarion's— not settled. Settled isn't the word for it. But he's lost momentum, there, in that short a span of time. What's left is an hollower voice. Rough-edged, but equally faded.]
Alexandrie is your friend, is she not? You two are close. You've worked together, you've entertained together—
[It isn't spiralling, necessarily. He does worse when he tailspins, but clearly he's had time enough to piece together his own assumptions:]
What did you say. Did you warn her about me? Is that it?
'Look out for Astarion, wolf in sheep's clothing. A monster.'
Alexandrie is your friend, is she not? You two are close. You've worked together, you've entertained together—
[It isn't spiralling, necessarily. He does worse when he tailspins, but clearly he's had time enough to piece together his own assumptions:]
What did you say. Did you warn her about me? Is that it?
'Look out for Astarion, wolf in sheep's clothing. A monster.'
[ He's relieved. Not relieved that he doesn't have to lie. Lying is easy. But relieved that the two people he has told to mind him didn't give it away so quickly and easily. ]
I have not said anything to her about it, my friend. We are—
[ not that close, he might say, but it's more complicated than that. They have one enormous vulnerability and a style of combat in common; otherwise, Bastien knows about Alexandrie only what could be gleamed from the Game and from the conversations he's witnessed her have with Byerly, and about him he assumes Alexandrie knows next to nothing. ]
Of course we've talked about you a little. But nothing like that. Little things. Trying to guess your age, you know? That kind of thing, and not at all recently.
I have not said anything to her about it, my friend. We are—
[ not that close, he might say, but it's more complicated than that. They have one enormous vulnerability and a style of combat in common; otherwise, Bastien knows about Alexandrie only what could be gleamed from the Game and from the conversations he's witnessed her have with Byerly, and about him he assumes Alexandrie knows next to nothing. ]
Of course we've talked about you a little. But nothing like that. Little things. Trying to guess your age, you know? That kind of thing, and not at all recently.
[The silence is telling. Astarion's clearly using it to measure, without sight, the sincerity of Bastien's claim. In the end, he has nothing. Nothing left to use against the man. Nothing to prove his unease. Nothing he wants to use, either.]
...so she hasn't said anything to you, either, then.
[How frustrating.
But...]
Ask her, then.
For me. No, not— for me, obviously. Don't let her know I sent you, but I need to know why she's supposedly so damn wary of me now.
Please, darling.
...so she hasn't said anything to you, either, then.
[How frustrating.
But...]
Ask her, then.
For me. No, not— for me, obviously. Don't let her know I sent you, but I need to know why she's supposedly so damn wary of me now.
Please, darling.
[ A long inhale. ]
Why can't she know you asked?
I am happy to try to find out for you, of course, but I—all of this find out but don't let her know why business. She's very clever. If something has happened and then I show up asking about you right on its heels, she will be able to guess. [ And lightly musing, in a cheer up sort of way: ] I suppose she might be less wary if she thinks both of us are idiots.
Why can't she know you asked?
I am happy to try to find out for you, of course, but I—all of this find out but don't let her know why business. She's very clever. If something has happened and then I show up asking about you right on its heels, she will be able to guess. [ And lightly musing, in a cheer up sort of way: ] I suppose she might be less wary if she thinks both of us are idiots.
Nothing has happened. I haven't so much as seen the woman since I first turned up, and now suddenly she's warning her false-husband about me—
[He stops. Clicks his tongue.]
You know her better, maybe she's always been this duplicitous. Maybe she's held a grudge against me right from the start, fine. I can admit that. But to tell my assigned partner to be wary— it stinks of something else. Something far more knowing, shall we say.
And if she thinks I sent you to her, who knows if she'll tell the truth.
[He stops. Clicks his tongue.]
You know her better, maybe she's always been this duplicitous. Maybe she's held a grudge against me right from the start, fine. I can admit that. But to tell my assigned partner to be wary— it stinks of something else. Something far more knowing, shall we say.
And if she thinks I sent you to her, who knows if she'll tell the truth.
There is no guarantee she will tell me the truth if she thinks you haven't.
[ Bastien would call her less duplicitous than she used to be. But he thinks there are things Alexandrie would guard from him. If Loki II is involved somehow, the odds that this is one of them are that much higher. ]
Could it be that you said in front of all of us that you'd leave Madame Baudin's mangled corpse in the dirt?
[ Bastien would call her less duplicitous than she used to be. But he thinks there are things Alexandrie would guard from him. If Loki II is involved somehow, the odds that this is one of them are that much higher. ]
Could it be that you said in front of all of us that you'd leave Madame Baudin's mangled corpse in the dirt?
Edited (attacking typos with a steak knife) 2021-09-20 02:41 (UTC)
...wait.
[Wait.]
She's friends with Gwenaëlle?
[Wait.]
She's friends with Gwenaëlle?
[Astarion laughs a little, far too withering to be sincere.
Shit. All this fuss— all this apprehension— and the answer was hovering right in front of his nose.]
Ahah. Mm. Yes, of course.
[He clears his throat, that drop in tone a sure sign he's thoroughly done the verbal equivalent of tucking his tail between his legs.]
My apologies, my dear. I...admittedly got a little carried away, snapping at you like that.
[He's not apologizing for Gwen tho. Not that.]
Shit. All this fuss— all this apprehension— and the answer was hovering right in front of his nose.]
Ahah. Mm. Yes, of course.
[He clears his throat, that drop in tone a sure sign he's thoroughly done the verbal equivalent of tucking his tail between his legs.]
My apologies, my dear. I...admittedly got a little carried away, snapping at you like that.
[He's not apologizing for Gwen tho. Not that.]
Don't tempt me with a good time, darling—
Mm? Oh. No. No need. [As a matter of fact, Bastien, please don't!!1] Best not to rouse moderately sleeping ire, and all that.
Mm? Oh. No. No need. [As a matter of fact, Bastien, please don't!!1] Best not to rouse moderately sleeping ire, and all that.
Mmhm. [ That’s a whatever you say, chéri sort of mmhm. ] Very wise.
—but you know, to be safe, I think you should feed my curiosity something else. To tide it over, ouais? If it is still ravenous next time I see her—I will try to contain it, for you, of course, but—
[ This is not a real threat. Curiosity might be his middle name, but only if he can have two middle names and the other one is Self-Control. ]
—but you know, to be safe, I think you should feed my curiosity something else. To tide it over, ouais? If it is still ravenous next time I see her—I will try to contain it, for you, of course, but—
[ This is not a real threat. Curiosity might be his middle name, but only if he can have two middle names and the other one is Self-Control. ]
[And this time, he laughs.
How he’d hoped you’d say yes, Bastien.]
Very good.
[And then the amusement fades, leaving something akin to—
Something much gentler, in fact.]
Mm.
Well you don’t have gith here. Or dragonborn. Or drow. But going in for races just seems too easy, all things considered.
I will say magic here is much different. And so are demons for that matter.
And if I’m honest, I’m not entirely convinced our worlds aren’t still one and the same: that if I look up into the night sky, I won’t see a glimmering star that’s actually Toril, in all its distant glory.
[He’d told Fenris the same thing, once. When they were stargazing beneath an open sky. Eased back into the grass, and forgetting the worst of everything that surrounded.
It feels like an eternity ago now. And yesterday.]
You don’t have ships that soar through the air as if it were water. And you don’t have illithid either— which actually isn’t a bad thing.
You don’t have gods that meddle. You don’t have the misery of knowing when they shut you out.
[A pause, tepid.]
...although I suppose your Maker isn’t much kinder, if the stories are true.
How he’d hoped you’d say yes, Bastien.]
Very good.
[And then the amusement fades, leaving something akin to—
Something much gentler, in fact.]
Mm.
Well you don’t have gith here. Or dragonborn. Or drow. But going in for races just seems too easy, all things considered.
I will say magic here is much different. And so are demons for that matter.
And if I’m honest, I’m not entirely convinced our worlds aren’t still one and the same: that if I look up into the night sky, I won’t see a glimmering star that’s actually Toril, in all its distant glory.
[He’d told Fenris the same thing, once. When they were stargazing beneath an open sky. Eased back into the grass, and forgetting the worst of everything that surrounded.
It feels like an eternity ago now. And yesterday.]
You don’t have ships that soar through the air as if it were water. And you don’t have illithid either— which actually isn’t a bad thing.
You don’t have gods that meddle. You don’t have the misery of knowing when they shut you out.
[A pause, tepid.]
...although I suppose your Maker isn’t much kinder, if the stories are true.
I like to imagine Him with His arms crossed and His chin jutting out, while He refuses to look at us.
[ Like a spoiled toddler, you know.
And sooner or later, over drinks or cards or a walk, Bastien will come for all of those unfamiliar words–gith and dragonborn and drow and illithid. And what about the magic, and what about the demons, and how do the ships soar, and why is it called Toril, and why would it be in the sky?
For now: ]
Did a god shut you out?
[ Like a spoiled toddler, you know.
And sooner or later, over drinks or cards or a walk, Bastien will come for all of those unfamiliar words–gith and dragonborn and drow and illithid. And what about the magic, and what about the demons, and how do the ships soar, and why is it called Toril, and why would it be in the sky?
For now: ]
Did a god shut you out?
I spent two hundred years chained to the cruelest bastard imaginable, adoring him as if he were the sun itself, hating him as if he were every bit the monster he was.
[His inhale is sharp. Pointed.]
I did my begging. My weeping. Said my prayers in the dark, and for what.
[There's no such thing as heroism. No divine mercy. No white knights on horseback charging in to slay dragons.]
No one ever came.
[And then, with a milder scoff. The weariest start of a more humorous tone:]
Not until this mess of a world, anyway.
[His inhale is sharp. Pointed.]
I did my begging. My weeping. Said my prayers in the dark, and for what.
[There's no such thing as heroism. No divine mercy. No white knights on horseback charging in to slay dragons.]
No one ever came.
[And then, with a milder scoff. The weariest start of a more humorous tone:]
Not until this mess of a world, anyway.
[ Quietly: ] I'm sorry.
[ And unsatiated. What he wants to know is if there was a meddling god before all of that—but now it seems cruel to ask.
For a few seconds he's silent, and then he says, ]
I have heard that some people believe the Maker is sending you to us, to help.
[ And unsatiated. What he wants to know is if there was a meddling god before all of that—but now it seems cruel to ask.
For a few seconds he's silent, and then he says, ]
I have heard that some people believe the Maker is sending you to us, to help.
[And— oh, Astarion does laugh at that.]
Some people believe a lot of things, darling. Doesn't make them any less stupid.
[His mood is better and worse now; amused and spiteful all at once, like he cant decide where to settle. Instead, he simply claws.]
In Toril, it was hard not to know the gods were...around, so to speak. Granted some of them were for the simpler things, so the bar was a bit low when you delve into the idea that some overpowered immortal was in charge of something as simple as making babies or— oh I don't know, painlessly pissing. But unlike your Maker and his Black City—
Mm. Gold? No— black now.
[He's transparent in his feigned confusion. Teasing.]
They did leave their marks. Have their wars. Granted I never saw either them or their own aspects for myself, so I can't tell you I shook a wolf-god's hand or watched a divine aspect personally char the flesh from a thousand bodies, but...
It was different.
[A beat, before:]
And because of it, you know, personally, each time they decide to fuck you over.
Some people believe a lot of things, darling. Doesn't make them any less stupid.
[His mood is better and worse now; amused and spiteful all at once, like he cant decide where to settle. Instead, he simply claws.]
In Toril, it was hard not to know the gods were...around, so to speak. Granted some of them were for the simpler things, so the bar was a bit low when you delve into the idea that some overpowered immortal was in charge of something as simple as making babies or— oh I don't know, painlessly pissing. But unlike your Maker and his Black City—
Mm. Gold? No— black now.
[He's transparent in his feigned confusion. Teasing.]
They did leave their marks. Have their wars. Granted I never saw either them or their own aspects for myself, so I can't tell you I shook a wolf-god's hand or watched a divine aspect personally char the flesh from a thousand bodies, but...
It was different.
[A beat, before:]
And because of it, you know, personally, each time they decide to fuck you over.
Edited 2021-09-22 04:09 (UTC)
Thanks to a detour on the upper floors, Ellis does beat him there. But the cause of that detour maybe makes the wait worth it: when Bastien emerges from the door, it’s with the Ambassador’s (their, lately, but more visibly Byerly’s) long-legged, droopy-faced, year-old hound at his heels. She breaks past him to bound down the stone walkway once they’re through the door, at least temporarily more interested in finding dirt and grass than in checking out Ellis.
“Sorry,” Bastien says—for the wait, however long it was—and then, “How are you?”
“Sorry,” Bastien says—for the wait, however long it was—and then, “How are you?”
A direct answer is delayed momentarily by Ellis' observation of the hound. The impulse to whistle her over comes and goes. She is not, after all, his dog to call.
"I'm well," is an afterthought, because he is aware Bastien is likely to repeat the question if not provided with an answer. "You?"
The polite ??? sequence of statements. Or so Ellis has gleaned from Wysteria in the course of their acquaintance.
"I'm well," is an afterthought, because he is aware Bastien is likely to repeat the question if not provided with an answer. "You?"
The polite ??? sequence of statements. Or so Ellis has gleaned from Wysteria in the course of their acquaintance.
Yes, Ellis does follow along. He's content momentarily to observe Whiskey, up until the point where Bastien's attention becomes a kind of prompt.
"I need to ask a favor of you," Ellis says, faintly apologetic. "One that I'd ask you kept to yourself."
"I need to ask a favor of you," Ellis says, faintly apologetic. "One that I'd ask you kept to yourself."
No, no poison.
Instead, Ellis reaches his hands up to his collar. His fingers dip beneath the fabric, finding a delicate clasp and working it open as he speaks.
"I've an errand that will take me from the Gallows for a time, and there are some things that can't go with me."
The fastening comes loose.
"I'd appreciate it if you would hold one of these things for me, until I returned."
Instead, Ellis reaches his hands up to his collar. His fingers dip beneath the fabric, finding a delicate clasp and working it open as he speaks.
"I've an errand that will take me from the Gallows for a time, and there are some things that can't go with me."
The fastening comes loose.
"I'd appreciate it if you would hold one of these things for me, until I returned."
When Ellis reaches for his collar, Bastien stops walking to watch. Whiskey, intrigued by the fact that they're no longer going, trots closer to nose his hand, then seems to notice Ellis is new for the first time and starts sniffing him from the toes up.
He has questions. But they can wait until he sees what it is Ellis is asking him to hold.
He has questions. But they can wait until he sees what it is Ellis is asking him to hold.
"Because I don't want to lose it."
And it might be lost, if he had to carry it with him to Weisshaupt. Ellis isn't sure what he will have to shed in the course of his time there.
"I promised someone I would safeguard it. I hope you would keep hold of it in my stead, until I come back to reclaim it."
And it might be lost, if he had to carry it with him to Weisshaupt. Ellis isn't sure what he will have to shed in the course of his time there.
"I promised someone I would safeguard it. I hope you would keep hold of it in my stead, until I come back to reclaim it."
Bastien nods, fingers curling over the jewelry. He'll look at it again later, of course. Scrutinize the make. (It's small and delicate. A woman's? Whose?) But not with Ellis watching and waiting for him. He undoes a few buttons on his vest with one hand until he has space to slide the ring and its chain into a safe inner pocket.
"I'll keep it safe," he says.
He snaps his fingers at his side to get Whiskey's attention while he fastens the buttons back up, one-handed as well.
"Where are you going?"
"I'll keep it safe," he says.
He snaps his fingers at his side to get Whiskey's attention while he fastens the buttons back up, one-handed as well.
"Where are you going?"
"Thank you," comes first.
And the question is stalled, set aside as Ellis comes down to his haunches to whistle softly for Whiskey's attention.
There is a moment where Ellis considers the whole truth of the task he's taken on. And then he considers Bastien, and pares down the enormity of it to something far less weighted.
"I've an errand to the north," is not untrue, just lacking a fuller picture. "I've always able to travel unnoticed, but these are unsettled times."
And the question is stalled, set aside as Ellis comes down to his haunches to whistle softly for Whiskey's attention.
There is a moment where Ellis considers the whole truth of the task he's taken on. And then he considers Bastien, and pares down the enormity of it to something far less weighted.
"I've an errand to the north," is not untrue, just lacking a fuller picture. "I've always able to travel unnoticed, but these are unsettled times."
Unsettled times is one way to put it.
So is an errand in the north. Bastien's curiosity is piqued, a creature lifting its head and sniffing the air, but he only reaches crossbody to pat Ellis on the broad shoulder with his dominant hand.
"This is why people find Wardens so attractive," he says. (Do people find Wardens so attractive? Surely some of them do, in between resenting and/or not seeing the point of them.) "All that mystery."
So is an errand in the north. Bastien's curiosity is piqued, a creature lifting its head and sniffing the air, but he only reaches crossbody to pat Ellis on the broad shoulder with his dominant hand.
"This is why people find Wardens so attractive," he says. (Do people find Wardens so attractive? Surely some of them do, in between resenting and/or not seeing the point of them.) "All that mystery."
Edited 2021-09-23 04:02 (UTC)
"There are other people here more mysterious than me."
Or does Ellis just assume that's the case, because he asks so few prying questions? (Observations about attractiveness go unacknowledged, as usual.)
But in the wake of that—
"There's something else. But it feels unfair to ask of you."
Or anyone else. But Bastien, for several reasons, is who Ellis has settled on for this particular task.
Or does Ellis just assume that's the case, because he asks so few prying questions? (Observations about attractiveness go unacknowledged, as usual.)
But in the wake of that—
"There's something else. But it feels unfair to ask of you."
Or anyone else. But Bastien, for several reasons, is who Ellis has settled on for this particular task.
All this gravity—but perhaps the scale has to be adjusted, since it's Ellis, routinely grave. Perhaps he's going north to see about a horse.
Bastien doesn't really think he's going north to see about a horse.
But he smiles a little, like he's not worried, and resumes escorting the dog toward the nearest garden. "If it is unfair, I will be the first person to tell you so," he lies. "Go on."
Bastien doesn't really think he's going north to see about a horse.
But he smiles a little, like he's not worried, and resumes escorting the dog toward the nearest garden. "If it is unfair, I will be the first person to tell you so," he lies. "Go on."
Prompting Ellis to rise to fall in step with Bastien, as he encourages Whiskey along. It's a handsome dog. But that's something to discuss once all has been settled.
"I've an envelope I'd like you to hold for me. If I don't return, I'd ask you pass it on to the Provost and he'll manage the rest."
And this is a particular kind of motivation: to return so Bastien never need pass along the envelope, and Tony need never open it to find two letters with his name and Wysteria's written very carefully along the folded edge. It's unfair. Unfair to Bastien, unfair to Tony. But Ellis can think of no better way.
Nevermind how strange it is to have grown to trust an Orlesian this way.
"I've an envelope I'd like you to hold for me. If I don't return, I'd ask you pass it on to the Provost and he'll manage the rest."
And this is a particular kind of motivation: to return so Bastien never need pass along the envelope, and Tony need never open it to find two letters with his name and Wysteria's written very carefully along the folded edge. It's unfair. Unfair to Bastien, unfair to Tony. But Ellis can think of no better way.
Nevermind how strange it is to have grown to trust an Orlesian this way.
"Ah," Bastien says. "That kind of errand."
The words are light and careless, even though he feels neither. He feels—something.
It isn't irritation, exactly, so much as a prickle of fear that manifests as petulance and the urge to say that yes, having heard the request, it is unfair, and he's opting out of any participation in this clearly foolish affair, and he would like to speak to Ellis' manager.
He is very good at not acting on urges. Instead he asks, "Don't return after how long?" And it doesn't sound anywhere close to irate by any normal measure, but for him, it's a tiny bit flat and a tiny bit clipped.
The words are light and careless, even though he feels neither. He feels—something.
It isn't irritation, exactly, so much as a prickle of fear that manifests as petulance and the urge to say that yes, having heard the request, it is unfair, and he's opting out of any participation in this clearly foolish affair, and he would like to speak to Ellis' manager.
He is very good at not acting on urges. Instead he asks, "Don't return after how long?" And it doesn't sound anywhere close to irate by any normal measure, but for him, it's a tiny bit flat and a tiny bit clipped.
The shift does not go unnoticed.
It prompts some quiet scrutiny, though what possibly could Ellis find? Even in the relatively short length of their acquaintance, he's found Bastien to be more or less impenetrable outside of a few, rare occasions.
"If I don't return before First Day," seems a fair estimate, which is then amended to, "If you've not heard from me before First Day."
A bid to account for travel time more than any other delay. It's followed briskly by, "You'll not open it, if I give it to you?"
It prompts some quiet scrutiny, though what possibly could Ellis find? Even in the relatively short length of their acquaintance, he's found Bastien to be more or less impenetrable outside of a few, rare occasions.
"If I don't return before First Day," seems a fair estimate, which is then amended to, "If you've not heard from me before First Day."
A bid to account for travel time more than any other delay. It's followed briskly by, "You'll not open it, if I give it to you?"
Bastien takes a breath, watching Whiskey vanish around a corner. She knows the way. Keeping mysterious personal letters unopened for three months is asking a terrible lot of his willpower. Not so much he couldn't do it—again, good at not acting on urges—but it'll mean consenting to three months of an itch he isn't allowed to scratch. Maybe a lifetime of it, if Ellis doesn't come back and the unopened letters disappear into the Provost's custody.
"Do you know what I am?" he asks. It isn't rhetorical, not a no in the form of a question. Only curiosity as to how informed Ellis' willingness to take his word for it is.
"Do you know what I am?" he asks. It isn't rhetorical, not a no in the form of a question. Only curiosity as to how informed Ellis' willingness to take his word for it is.
It strikes Ellis as an odd question. Ellis, who has spent very little time considering anyone else's business, has only considered Bastien so far as to note that he's Orlesian and—
"A musician?" is not devoid of humor. Ellis has some sense that this is not the answer.
"A musician?" is not devoid of humor. Ellis has some sense that this is not the answer.
Edited (words) 2021-09-24 21:11 (UTC)
Bastien grins and huffs, as much of a laugh as can cut through the tangle of his mood, with a fair enough tip of his head.
"A bard," he says, which could only be a synonym if not for the context. "So I can give you my word I won't open it, but maybe you should give me a copper and call it a contract." He sounds cheeky, not potentially insulted by the prospect. "Just to be safe."
"A bard," he says, which could only be a synonym if not for the context. "So I can give you my word I won't open it, but maybe you should give me a copper and call it a contract." He sounds cheeky, not potentially insulted by the prospect. "Just to be safe."
"I could."
Ellis has a copper in his pocket. He could give Bastien a handful of coppers, and call this arrangement sealed. But instead—
"I don't think I need to."
Maybe Ellis should have guessed at this truth. But he hadn't suspected, and it doesn't change anything about how he feels now. And the letters likely don't say anything Bastien doesn't know, or hasn't guessed about Ellis and Tony or Ellis and Wysteria.
Ellis has a copper in his pocket. He could give Bastien a handful of coppers, and call this arrangement sealed. But instead—
"I don't think I need to."
Maybe Ellis should have guessed at this truth. But he hadn't suspected, and it doesn't change anything about how he feels now. And the letters likely don't say anything Bastien doesn't know, or hasn't guessed about Ellis and Tony or Ellis and Wysteria.
"D'accord. I won't open it."
Probably. It would be very heartwarming if an expression of trust were more binding than a coin, but they'll just have to see. He's not in the habit of keeping promises to dead men in particular.
"Does the Provost know about your errand?"
Probably. It would be very heartwarming if an expression of trust were more binding than a coin, but they'll just have to see. He's not in the habit of keeping promises to dead men in particular.
"Does the Provost know about your errand?"
"Aye," Ellis answers, in the process of fishing the closed packet from the inside of his gambeson to turn it over to Bastien. "And the Scoutmaster as well."
It is Yseult's particular expertise, after all.
Ellis flips the packet over in his hands. There is a wax seal holding it closed. He runs his thumb over it, before holding it out to Bastien.
"I don't intend to tell anyone beyond who already knows."
Which now includes Bastien, apparently.
It is Yseult's particular expertise, after all.
Ellis flips the packet over in his hands. There is a wax seal holding it closed. He runs his thumb over it, before holding it out to Bastien.
"I don't intend to tell anyone beyond who already knows."
Which now includes Bastien, apparently.
Bastien nods, holding the letter at his side without examining it. He'll have several months to do that. Now he ought to say something. Be careful, or I'll set aside books for you, or I'll set aside books for you and if you don't come back for them I will throw them all into the sea, so think about the poor books before you do anything stupid.
He stays quiet. They aren't that close, he decides just now. Friendly, more than friends. On the cusp—so how convenient Ellis is doing this now instead of next year. Next year it might have mattered.
He stays quiet. They aren't that close, he decides just now. Friendly, more than friends. On the cusp—so how convenient Ellis is doing this now instead of next year. Next year it might have mattered.
It's an unfair thing he's done. Ellis knows it.
He'd like to think it is the kind of burden that will be easy to set aside, that Bastien will hand off that envelope in his absence and think little more of it. But Ellis knows better. Which is why, after the silence has stretched for a few moments, he offers—
"I'm sorry. To have asked."
He'd like to think it is the kind of burden that will be easy to set aside, that Bastien will hand off that envelope in his absence and think little more of it. But Ellis knows better. Which is why, after the silence has stretched for a few moments, he offers—
"I'm sorry. To have asked."
“Oh, don’t be,” Bastien says, emerging from his quiet, contemplative distance not quite immediately, but rapidly. Like tossing on a coat of good humor and a hat of indifference upon realizing he’s underdressed.
He lifts the letter out in front of him, held up vertically against his palm, and flattens his fingers to try to balance it on end. It would be easier without the airflow from walking, but he manages it for a few seconds.
“It’s the least heavy thing I have been asked to hold all week.”
He lifts the letter out in front of him, held up vertically against his palm, and flattens his fingers to try to balance it on end. It would be easier without the airflow from walking, but he manages it for a few seconds.
“It’s the least heavy thing I have been asked to hold all week.”
It would all be very believable, had Ellis not come across Bastien beneath a tree in a courtyard and sat alongside him quietly there.
But Ellis had seen him there. And he does not believe Bastien when he says this is an easy thing Ellis has asked of him.
His hand catches Bastien's elbow, holds on for a moment to stall their movements while Whiskey goes snuffling on ahead of them. His grip flexes there, sturdy and firm without bruising pressure. Ellis should say something. A better apology. A promise to return. Something.
But no. All he has to offer is the expression on his face, intent, creased with worry, as he says, "Thank you, then. For holding them both for me. I'll try to see to it that you needn't carry them for very long."
But Ellis had seen him there. And he does not believe Bastien when he says this is an easy thing Ellis has asked of him.
His hand catches Bastien's elbow, holds on for a moment to stall their movements while Whiskey goes snuffling on ahead of them. His grip flexes there, sturdy and firm without bruising pressure. Ellis should say something. A better apology. A promise to return. Something.
But no. All he has to offer is the expression on his face, intent, creased with worry, as he says, "Thank you, then. For holding them both for me. I'll try to see to it that you needn't carry them for very long."
"Pas de problème," Bastien says, with apparent sincerity that is still somehow distant—if only by contrast, in a way that would be unnoticeable to people who had never seen him come any genuinely closer and couldn't tell the difference.
(It isn't, to be fair, entirely down to Ellis. Of the three people Bastien has let closest since he came here, one recently and willfully fucked off without an explanation or good-bye; another, less willfully and more recently, was presumed dead for several weeks. Ellis merely has the misfortune of being the first caught on the threshold, where Bastien believes he can push him back out and bar the door behind him.)
He pats Ellis' hand on his elbow, not too breezily, not with condescension. It lingers a little, before he steps aside in a way that will pull his arm free unless Ellis is stubborn about it.
"I do expect you to bring me something, though," he says. "From the north. An interesting leaf, at least. That is my fee."
(It isn't, to be fair, entirely down to Ellis. Of the three people Bastien has let closest since he came here, one recently and willfully fucked off without an explanation or good-bye; another, less willfully and more recently, was presumed dead for several weeks. Ellis merely has the misfortune of being the first caught on the threshold, where Bastien believes he can push him back out and bar the door behind him.)
He pats Ellis' hand on his elbow, not too breezily, not with condescension. It lingers a little, before he steps aside in a way that will pull his arm free unless Ellis is stubborn about it.
"I do expect you to bring me something, though," he says. "From the north. An interesting leaf, at least. That is my fee."
Ellis almost does not let go.
What a familiar urge, to claw back what he has given away and with it whatever harm has been rendered. It visits him often, these days.
"There are not many leaves, where I am going," Ellis says. His hand loosens. Bastien is free to draw away, and retreat. Ellis remains where he is stood, watching him. "But I'll try to locate one, for you."
He does not say again Thank you. He does not say I'm sorry. Instead, he leaves Bastien with this. A promise of something, to be delivered upon his return.
What a familiar urge, to claw back what he has given away and with it whatever harm has been rendered. It visits him often, these days.
"There are not many leaves, where I am going," Ellis says. His hand loosens. Bastien is free to draw away, and retreat. Ellis remains where he is stood, watching him. "But I'll try to locate one, for you."
He does not say again Thank you. He does not say I'm sorry. Instead, he leaves Bastien with this. A promise of something, to be delivered upon his return.
It is for me.
[ Half true, on the truth-o-meter, but it's not meant as a real statement anyway. It's half a joke, half a compliment; he leans over their beloved dog to kiss Byerly on his beloved cheek. This part of life is easy. ]
Do you think I was wrong about him being dangerous? [ For clarity: ] I would love to be.
[ Half true, on the truth-o-meter, but it's not meant as a real statement anyway. It's half a joke, half a compliment; he leans over their beloved dog to kiss Byerly on his beloved cheek. This part of life is easy. ]
Do you think I was wrong about him being dangerous? [ For clarity: ] I would love to be.
That is better than I have been.
[ He doesn't sound troubled, as his his attention turns to Whiskey and carefully pushing the side of her mouth up into half a smile. It's just good to keep humble, that's all. ]
Good. I will like him without caveats. I mean, he is a little moody and given to dramatics—but you know I appreciate that in a person.
[ He doesn't sound troubled, as his his attention turns to Whiskey and carefully pushing the side of her mouth up into half a smile. It's just good to keep humble, that's all. ]
Good. I will like him without caveats. I mean, he is a little moody and given to dramatics—but you know I appreciate that in a person.
Edited (important word) 2022-01-07 20:58 (UTC)
[ Delighted laughter. ]
Yes, yes, Yseult. The other day she had a temper tantrum and raised her entire eyebrow at me.
[ Whiskey's nose twitches, so he leaves her mouth alone, determined not to annoy her with affection. ]
We met dramatically enough that she doesn't owe me more excitement.
Yes, yes, Yseult. The other day she had a temper tantrum and raised her entire eyebrow at me.
[ Whiskey's nose twitches, so he leaves her mouth alone, determined not to annoy her with affection. ]
We met dramatically enough that she doesn't owe me more excitement.
How do I say no to those faces? Hmm. It was nearly ten years ago—
[ And he explains, using a storyteller’s flair and more words than I want to write, how they were both sent to the same Duchess’ manor house for the same extravagant party—Bastien as part of the entertainment, Yseult mysterious and beautiful on the arm of a Baron—in pursuit of the same lockbox. How they stumbled upon one another in the search agreed to cooperate, both planning to do no such thing when it came end. A few detours into daring heist shenanigans. Some minor arson that turned significant; the complete destruction of the mansion that year is fairly well-known.
It ends in a standoff, surrounded by fire, with the lockbox in Bastien’s hands and Yseult making the case that its contents would hurt a great number of people in his employer’s possession, but not in hers. ]
And it couldn’t be a lie, because that is the worst lie appeal to a Bard—that people will be hurt. People are always hurt. I let her have it, though, [ is how it ends. ] That is why she likes me so much. I’ve tried telling her it was only because she was so pretty, but she thinks I was doing the right thing.
[ She’s right.
And for some dramatics of his own: ]
Anyway, she ruined my life.
[ And he explains, using a storyteller’s flair and more words than I want to write, how they were both sent to the same Duchess’ manor house for the same extravagant party—Bastien as part of the entertainment, Yseult mysterious and beautiful on the arm of a Baron—in pursuit of the same lockbox. How they stumbled upon one another in the search agreed to cooperate, both planning to do no such thing when it came end. A few detours into daring heist shenanigans. Some minor arson that turned significant; the complete destruction of the mansion that year is fairly well-known.
It ends in a standoff, surrounded by fire, with the lockbox in Bastien’s hands and Yseult making the case that its contents would hurt a great number of people in his employer’s possession, but not in hers. ]
And it couldn’t be a lie, because that is the worst lie appeal to a Bard—that people will be hurt. People are always hurt. I let her have it, though, [ is how it ends. ] That is why she likes me so much. I’ve tried telling her it was only because she was so pretty, but she thinks I was doing the right thing.
[ She’s right.
And for some dramatics of his own: ]
Anyway, she ruined my life.
Edited 2022-01-08 20:34 (UTC)
[ Bastien nods and scratches Whiskey under the chin. (So ruined, his life. Completely terrible.) ]
I'd never failed on purpose before. It's not done. It's the only reason anyone could ever trust a bard to do anything—we don't back out, we keep your secrets, all of that. We can decide not to take a contact, but once we take it, it is not up to us anymore. Like, [ with a lazily mimed bow, ] a loosed arrow.
But when I had made that choice once, it became a choice every time, and I—
[ He shakes his head. He didn't quit on the spot. He lasted another few years. But it wore him down, he's trying to communicate with a sigh alone, for every wrecked life and stabbed back to feel like something he could decide to prevent after all. ]
And now here I am, working for pennies. [ He tugs gently on By's goatee. ] Excellent benefits, though.
I'd never failed on purpose before. It's not done. It's the only reason anyone could ever trust a bard to do anything—we don't back out, we keep your secrets, all of that. We can decide not to take a contact, but once we take it, it is not up to us anymore. Like, [ with a lazily mimed bow, ] a loosed arrow.
But when I had made that choice once, it became a choice every time, and I—
[ He shakes his head. He didn't quit on the spot. He lasted another few years. But it wore him down, he's trying to communicate with a sigh alone, for every wrecked life and stabbed back to feel like something he could decide to prevent after all. ]
And now here I am, working for pennies. [ He tugs gently on By's goatee. ] Excellent benefits, though.
[ It's a nice story. It's also one that gives Yseult far too much credit. If Bastien was willing to sacrifice the job for idealism, it wouldn't have been because of some pretty words (even assuming, of course, that the words were pretty; Yseult isn't much of a sweet-talker). It would have been because he was already on the point of that decision and just needed an excuse to tip over it. A butterfly's moment of change is not when it emerges from the cocoon; the change is that process over those long weeks, beginning at the start of the cocoon-building process.
But a nice story - Well, it's more fun to tell a nice story than it is to tell an accurate one. ]
And to be fair, have you ever met a truly happy rich man?
But a nice story - Well, it's more fun to tell a nice story than it is to tell an accurate one. ]
And to be fair, have you ever met a truly happy rich man?
One. [ A pause, for timing. ] He was a fool.
[ He doesn't live in fear of Byerly realizing what he is—or what he's been, at least—and recoiling in horror. By already knows. And if he ever is caught by surprise by the details, Bastien trusts him to hold on instead of letting go. So it isn't precisely relief Bastien feels, whenever he talks about it without getting the sense that Byerly and his good, heroic heart are disturbed or judgmental. But it's something. Awe, maybe. Such a strange thing, to be able to lay his flaws out for examination without any real fear. ]
Maybe that is the secret. Foolishness, at any income.
[ He doesn't live in fear of Byerly realizing what he is—or what he's been, at least—and recoiling in horror. By already knows. And if he ever is caught by surprise by the details, Bastien trusts him to hold on instead of letting go. So it isn't precisely relief Bastien feels, whenever he talks about it without getting the sense that Byerly and his good, heroic heart are disturbed or judgmental. But it's something. Awe, maybe. Such a strange thing, to be able to lay his flaws out for examination without any real fear. ]
Maybe that is the secret. Foolishness, at any income.
Oh.
[ A shrug is not the right answer, he's pretty sure, but it's what he does. ]
I don't know. The killing, yes, but I think it would have happened with or without me. Most of it. I wish I hadn't been the one to do it for my own sake, because I think it takes something out of you that you don't get back, when you do something like that. But if I had never become a Bard at all, they would still be dead, and I would be—I don't know.
[ A shrug is not the right answer, he's pretty sure, but it's what he does. ]
I don't know. The killing, yes, but I think it would have happened with or without me. Most of it. I wish I hadn't been the one to do it for my own sake, because I think it takes something out of you that you don't get back, when you do something like that. But if I had never become a Bard at all, they would still be dead, and I would be—I don't know.
[ Making a fuller apology, one that clearly need not be made, given Bastien's cheerful engagement with the question: ]
I know, I know. This is like talking to - Do you recall Rafael, that student who'd hang around with us? Always questions like this. Insufferable.
[ Then: ]
It's hard to say, at times. It's like you said, isn't it - We might make decisions, but the world around us will compensate. Things will happen even if we step back from them.
I know, I know. This is like talking to - Do you recall Rafael, that student who'd hang around with us? Always questions like this. Insufferable.
[ Then: ]
It's hard to say, at times. It's like you said, isn't it - We might make decisions, but the world around us will compensate. Things will happen even if we step back from them.
[ Bastien hums and stretches out on the floor, head resting on Byerly's shin, half-fencing Whiskey in with the rest of him. ]
Well, that's—
[ Depressing. ]
I don't think that is true for everyone and everything. It's about how much power we have, isn't it? The Empress can make decisions the world won't undo. I could have, [ with some reluctance, because he doesn't enjoy marinating in guilt the way some people might, ] saved one of them. Really saved them. But it would have been the last contract I ever had. Someone else would have been hired for the rest of them.
Well, that's—
[ Depressing. ]
I don't think that is true for everyone and everything. It's about how much power we have, isn't it? The Empress can make decisions the world won't undo. I could have, [ with some reluctance, because he doesn't enjoy marinating in guilt the way some people might, ] saved one of them. Really saved them. But it would have been the last contract I ever had. Someone else would have been hired for the rest of them.
[ Byerly nods, his brow furrowing just a little bit. ]
But in the long term, the next Blight will still come. In time, the Maker will return. In time, everyone will die.
[ Not something he necessarily believes - that anything doesn't matter, just because there are some inevitabilities. But for argument's sake. ]
But in the long term, the next Blight will still come. In time, the Maker will return. In time, everyone will die.
[ Not something he necessarily believes - that anything doesn't matter, just because there are some inevitabilities. But for argument's sake. ]
Maybe.
[ Not everyone dies; Bastien has an open mind about the existence of the Maker, in the sense that it hardly seems relevant to him either way. Maybe the Wardens will end the Blights after all at some point, or they'll run out of Archdemons.
But that isn't the point. ]
It still matters, what happens in the meantime. [ He says it with some reluctance, looking at Whiskey's dewclaw. They agreed on as much, when they were drunk in the rain, and it was about Byerly's good deeds being important even if they didn't fix the world for good. But it's different, when it's about whether Bastien's bad ones meant anything, because—
Because it makes him feel shitty. That's why. ]
[ Not everyone dies; Bastien has an open mind about the existence of the Maker, in the sense that it hardly seems relevant to him either way. Maybe the Wardens will end the Blights after all at some point, or they'll run out of Archdemons.
But that isn't the point. ]
It still matters, what happens in the meantime. [ He says it with some reluctance, looking at Whiskey's dewclaw. They agreed on as much, when they were drunk in the rain, and it was about Byerly's good deeds being important even if they didn't fix the world for good. But it's different, when it's about whether Bastien's bad ones meant anything, because—
Because it makes him feel shitty. That's why. ]
Mm. I have never been to Antiva, so I can only trust the opinions of others when it comes to what is passable. But Bindo Fiorensi told me that Chola Arcimboldo at the Twin Bears makes gnocchi and a fish chowder that tastes exactly like his grandmother's.
You think so? [ A considering hum. ] You could do it in one of the nice rooms at the tops of the towers. The ones for the fancy guests we never get. That would be out of the way without you having to bring a stranger into places that have her things or anything important in them.
[ Bastien hums and nods agreeably. His mouth isn't full, but it is occupied by a crispy bit of crust he's holding there while the jam dissolves. Because it's By, he only moves the food into the pocket of his cheek before he talks, rather than swallowing it. ]
Would Fereldans pour milk into the sea if it cost too much for too long? [ And then he answers himself: ] Of course they would. Dramatically unyielding in the face of oppression, those Fereldans.
Would Fereldans pour milk into the sea if it cost too much for too long? [ And then he answers himself: ] Of course they would. Dramatically unyielding in the face of oppression, those Fereldans.
[ An appreciative laugh. Disgusting! Ingenious!
Bastien swallows his bite of bread after all. ]
I spent an hour this morning— [ after this or that bit of news about the unrest in Val Royeaux arrived ] —thinking this might finally be when something changes. But I thought that before, with the civil war, and when the city was burning—and then there were the Freemen of the Dales.
[ The biggest push in several ages for a new way of doing things, and in the end they were twisted around into Corypheus' pawns. That one still stings. ]
And it is such a bad time for that kind of chaos.
Bastien swallows his bite of bread after all. ]
I spent an hour this morning— [ after this or that bit of news about the unrest in Val Royeaux arrived ] —thinking this might finally be when something changes. But I thought that before, with the civil war, and when the city was burning—and then there were the Freemen of the Dales.
[ The biggest push in several ages for a new way of doing things, and in the end they were twisted around into Corypheus' pawns. That one still stings. ]
And it is such a bad time for that kind of chaos.
[ Byerly doesn't know why he's never asked this question before. He doesn't know why the question hasn't ever really occurred to him before. It's - Well, Bastien seems so apolitical. And he rubs shoulders with nobility so gracefully. Still, that's not exactly an excuse for his lack of curiosity, and By knows that Bastien dislikes all the trappings of elitism...But there's a difference between that and a desire for revolution.
His voice is light. He sounds idle in his interest. ]
Would you want something to change?
His voice is light. He sounds idle in his interest. ]
Would you want something to change?
Yes.
[ The answer comes easily; he accepts that light idleness as genuine without thinking, and without noticing that he’s not thinking. ]
Probably five things. Ten? I have not made a list. No more invading places that don’t belong to us—I will put that one on it for you.
[ The answer comes easily; he accepts that light idleness as genuine without thinking, and without noticing that he’s not thinking. ]
Probably five things. Ten? I have not made a list. No more invading places that don’t belong to us—I will put that one on it for you.
[ His noses wrinkles, and he quickly chews and swallows his cheek-wad of bread while he decides: ]
Masks and paint for special occasions. When they are fun.
No Chevaliers, [ more seriously. ] No serfs. How do they worship the leader of a slave rebellion while they have serfs?
Masks and paint for special occasions. When they are fun.
No Chevaliers, [ more seriously. ] No serfs. How do they worship the leader of a slave rebellion while they have serfs?
If I could think what to replace it with.
[ A sideways glance, a smile. ]
And if it would not make stopping Corypheus more difficult.
[ No need to worry about him misusing his post. Maybe it's a subconscious need to balance out that sense of obedient duty that makes him stick his finger directly in the jam pot to pull out a glob. ]
[ A sideways glance, a smile. ]
And if it would not make stopping Corypheus more difficult.
[ No need to worry about him misusing his post. Maybe it's a subconscious need to balance out that sense of obedient duty that makes him stick his finger directly in the jam pot to pull out a glob. ]
[ A wave of his hand dismisses that last part. It can go unsaid; By knows that Bastien has his priorities sorted. Survival first; reform later. ]
The Landsmeet isn't the worst system. Though it's corrupt, and dominated by those of certain bloodlines.
The Landsmeet isn't the worst system. Though it's corrupt, and dominated by those of certain bloodlines.
Bloodlines.
[ A teasing, snobby sniff of derision, before he sticks his jammy finger in his mouth. He’s so interested in the conversation that he doesn’t try to make sucking it clean even a little alluring. ]
It does seem better. But Ferelden has had the Landsmeet for longer than it’s been a country, hasn’t it? [ Facts from listening to 2 a.m. political arguments in various taverns. That one might even have come from Byerly. ] How do you convince someone who already has unchecked power that they need it checked after all? Pamphlets?
[ A teasing, snobby sniff of derision, before he sticks his jammy finger in his mouth. He’s so interested in the conversation that he doesn’t try to make sucking it clean even a little alluring. ]
It does seem better. But Ferelden has had the Landsmeet for longer than it’s been a country, hasn’t it? [ Facts from listening to 2 a.m. political arguments in various taverns. That one might even have come from Byerly. ] How do you convince someone who already has unchecked power that they need it checked after all? Pamphlets?
Edited 2022-03-18 04:26 (UTC)
Maker, no. Too many of them can't read.
[ Not a joke at their expense, or elitism, or anything of the sort - a simple statement of fact. In some parts of the South, the peasantry is more literate than the nobles with their hired scribes and footmen. ]
I don't know there is a way to convince them. Sometimes I wonder if Nikos Averesch might know the only real path to reform. [ Then - ] Or was it Kostos? I can never remember which one's the mage and which one's the rebel.
[ Not a joke at their expense, or elitism, or anything of the sort - a simple statement of fact. In some parts of the South, the peasantry is more literate than the nobles with their hired scribes and footmen. ]
I don't know there is a way to convince them. Sometimes I wonder if Nikos Averesch might know the only real path to reform. [ Then - ] Or was it Kostos? I can never remember which one's the mage and which one's the rebel.
Edited (torturing you) 2022-03-18 21:07 (UTC)
[ Bastien laughs, then shakes his head. ]
Maker. Having a twin would be terrible.
[ —is a topic for later. For the present: ]
I don't know if he was right. Maybe he is now— [ with his mysterious shady revolutionary activities; who knows ] —but before, I mean. In Nevarra. You kill a king, you get another. It is like clipping the highest leaf off of a weed.
Maker. Having a twin would be terrible.
[ —is a topic for later. For the present: ]
I don't know if he was right. Maybe he is now— [ with his mysterious shady revolutionary activities; who knows ] —but before, I mean. In Nevarra. You kill a king, you get another. It is like clipping the highest leaf off of a weed.
Mmhm.
[ Byerly leans forward to nibble gently on one jammy fingertip. Partly because it's delicious, and partly just to give himself a bit of time to think. Bastien has thought about this. ]
And kings don't deserve to die just for being kings, either. Many of them are just people of ordinary talent trying their best.
[ Byerly leans forward to nibble gently on one jammy fingertip. Partly because it's delicious, and partly just to give himself a bit of time to think. Bastien has thought about this. ]
And kings don't deserve to die just for being kings, either. Many of them are just people of ordinary talent trying their best.
[ The curiosity makes his smile smaller, but only out of shyness—a tiny little dab of it—in the face of scrutiny. No sadness. ]
If we all laid down our swords and accepted their rule, [ pause for sucking another finger swiftly clean, ] I’m sure they would stop.
If we all laid down our swords and accepted their rule, [ pause for sucking another finger swiftly clean, ] I’m sure they would stop.
I don’t know.
[ More direct than the hedging question he might have posed to someone he was inclined to hide his own opinions with. He shifts and stretches to put his legs in Byerly’s lap. ]
Tyrants are not all sadists. I think most of them would settle down if everyone was obedient and never threatened them.
[ More direct than the hedging question he might have posed to someone he was inclined to hide his own opinions with. He shifts and stretches to put his legs in Byerly’s lap. ]
Tyrants are not all sadists. I think most of them would settle down if everyone was obedient and never threatened them.
[ Bastien nods in a wobbly, considering way, and for a few seconds he's quiet. Some of those seconds are to think about what By's said. The others are to bask in being cared for, and in being so utterly certain that he'll still be cared for just as much even if they have found something they might not agree on. ]
You know I would still love you if you became the Empress' own bodyguard, [ he says, in case that certainty isn't mutual, as he nudges one of his slightly-achy knees into the path of By's hands. ] And I think you are probably right about tyrants.
But the king who has sent the men to kill you—maybe he is not a tyrant. Maybe he’s good to his own people and thinks yours are barbarians who need to be rescued from their backwards ways through his fatherly subjugation. [ A little eyebrow raise says he knows that's a low blow argument to make at a Fereldan, and he is sorry but not very sorry. ] Maybe he has an earnest disagreement with someone about whether or not their land is his. Whether they owe him taxes.
If all the harm in the world was only done through sadism or paranoia, there would be much less of it.
You know I would still love you if you became the Empress' own bodyguard, [ he says, in case that certainty isn't mutual, as he nudges one of his slightly-achy knees into the path of By's hands. ] And I think you are probably right about tyrants.
But the king who has sent the men to kill you—maybe he is not a tyrant. Maybe he’s good to his own people and thinks yours are barbarians who need to be rescued from their backwards ways through his fatherly subjugation. [ A little eyebrow raise says he knows that's a low blow argument to make at a Fereldan, and he is sorry but not very sorry. ] Maybe he has an earnest disagreement with someone about whether or not their land is his. Whether they owe him taxes.
If all the harm in the world was only done through sadism or paranoia, there would be much less of it.
[ By flutters his eyelashes at Bastien in confirmation that he has no great fear about this conversation, and that Bastien could say just about anything without causing By the least bit of hurt. Byerly has always, after all, had the privilege of not really needing to worry about politics - has always been one of the few who would not really be affected by any decision in the Landsmeet, as neither a recipient of or a provider of tax income, as someone neither possessed of or desirous of power. He listened for the moments when malcontentment became danger; he tried to keep the queen alive; that was about the extent of his political leanings. ]
All that is true enough. [ He agrees easily. The low blow, it seems, landed soundly. ] But none of those sound like sins great enough that a man ought to lose his life. And even if they were, why does a sour-faced Nevarran lush get to appoint himself judge and executioner?
All that is true enough. [ He agrees easily. The low blow, it seems, landed soundly. ] But none of those sound like sins great enough that a man ought to lose his life. And even if they were, why does a sour-faced Nevarran lush get to appoint himself judge and executioner?
Hm.
[ That's not untrue. And if By really saw himself as incompetent, extraordinarily incompetent rather than the garden-variety incompetent he is, then there's no way he'd ever scrabble to hold onto the position.
By traces a circle around Bastien's kneecap. ]
But who's to decide who's good or not?
[ That's not untrue. And if By really saw himself as incompetent, extraordinarily incompetent rather than the garden-variety incompetent he is, then there's no way he'd ever scrabble to hold onto the position.
By traces a circle around Bastien's kneecap. ]
But who's to decide who's good or not?
[ Lounging smugly: ] Me.
[ But he follows it quickly with a shrug. ]
No. Maybe it is impossible. Anything someone does is good for some people and bad for others. The loser of any dispute can decide the judge is unfair. I know that. So one man, alone, alright, maybe he does not have the right to kill a ruler, or anyone else.
But I think— [ an inarticulate gesture, during his pause, for the rare time he has not decided what to say before he says it ] —there is nothing inherently legitimate about it. About government. Just because it happened more slowly to the Ciriane than the Alamarri— [ never mind that he is, himself, technically Planasene ] —and we have found ourselves part of the Orlesian Empire over ages instead of overnight, if we are being crushed beneath it and decide we are done with it, I don’t think we have any less right than Ferelden to rebel.
If a lone Fereldan man had taken it upon himself to kill King Megrhen, during all of that, or Emperor Reville—you would not see him a hero now?
[ But he follows it quickly with a shrug. ]
No. Maybe it is impossible. Anything someone does is good for some people and bad for others. The loser of any dispute can decide the judge is unfair. I know that. So one man, alone, alright, maybe he does not have the right to kill a ruler, or anyone else.
But I think— [ an inarticulate gesture, during his pause, for the rare time he has not decided what to say before he says it ] —there is nothing inherently legitimate about it. About government. Just because it happened more slowly to the Ciriane than the Alamarri— [ never mind that he is, himself, technically Planasene ] —and we have found ourselves part of the Orlesian Empire over ages instead of overnight, if we are being crushed beneath it and decide we are done with it, I don’t think we have any less right than Ferelden to rebel.
If a lone Fereldan man had taken it upon himself to kill King Megrhen, during all of that, or Emperor Reville—you would not see him a hero now?
Hah.
[ He grins. ]
May we all be blessed by incompetent enemies. - But not just that, either. For example, let's say it had been one of the Banns of Dane who'd done it. I'm sure I, a Rutyer, would have been raised to believe that so-called hero a fool.
[ He grins. ]
May we all be blessed by incompetent enemies. - But not just that, either. For example, let's say it had been one of the Banns of Dane who'd done it. I'm sure I, a Rutyer, would have been raised to believe that so-called hero a fool.
Maybe raised that way, but that doesn’t mean you would have believed it, Monsieur le mouton noir.
[ Warmly. Byerly doesn’t believe all sorts of things he must have been raised to believe, and Bastien’s grateful for every one of them. ]
But hypothetically. For other people. That’s true.
[ Warmly. Byerly doesn’t believe all sorts of things he must have been raised to believe, and Bastien’s grateful for every one of them. ]
But hypothetically. For other people. That’s true.
[ Another laugh, but when this one ends, he inhales and gives a more thoughtful hm as punctuation. Then he’s quiet, thinking about it. Smiling faintly. It’s a good thought; he’s taking it to heart. ]
Maybe. [ A hopeful maybe, rather than his more typical but probably not kind. ] It would be easier if more people could read. Did you hear some of the rifters’ worlds require everyone to go to school? It’s a law. If you don’t send your children you’re punished. Who could have dreamed that up?
Maybe. [ A hopeful maybe, rather than his more typical but probably not kind. ] It would be easier if more people could read. Did you hear some of the rifters’ worlds require everyone to go to school? It’s a law. If you don’t send your children you’re punished. Who could have dreamed that up?
Punishment fetishists. I assume the parents are spanked.
[ Eyebrow waggle. Then, much less facetiously - ]
They've an easier time of it, I suspect, many of these Rifters. I think there's less war in their worlds and more bounty. It's the misery of Thedas - that most children are hardscrabble farmhands at best, soldiers at worst. Few with the luxury to become scholars and courtiers. If we had more ease, though, then perhaps we'd do the same.
[ Eyebrow waggle. Then, much less facetiously - ]
They've an easier time of it, I suspect, many of these Rifters. I think there's less war in their worlds and more bounty. It's the misery of Thedas - that most children are hardscrabble farmhands at best, soldiers at worst. Few with the luxury to become scholars and courtiers. If we had more ease, though, then perhaps we'd do the same.
Edited 2022-03-21 19:02 (UTC)
And then we would be as insufferable as they are. [ As he reaches for another piece of bread, an amendment: ] A few of them. Most are fine. Some are wonderful.
[ His hand pauses poised to put a pinch of bread into his mouth as soon as he’s finished talking. ]
Would you change anything? Say you had to do your good that way—from afar, with rules.
[ His hand pauses poised to put a pinch of bread into his mouth as soon as he’s finished talking. ]
Would you change anything? Say you had to do your good that way—from afar, with rules.
No one in their right minds would let me set the rules.
[ Rather practiced, that demurral. As is the follow up: ]
And I'm not really political.
[ When you are the nephew of a very influential Bann - even a no-good nephew - people are interested in your opinions. Want to know if you might be able to influence this vote or the other. Obviously, that's not Bastien, but habits are habits. ]
[ Rather practiced, that demurral. As is the follow up: ]
And I'm not really political.
[ When you are the nephew of a very influential Bann - even a no-good nephew - people are interested in your opinions. Want to know if you might be able to influence this vote or the other. Obviously, that's not Bastien, but habits are habits. ]
[ Bastien's eyes narrow while he chews, and he lets out a long, skeptical hum. ]
That's very diplomatic of you, Ambassador.
[ He takes his legs back so he can relocate to sit next to Byerly, with his typically-lowkey self-assurance made sharper and, arguably, cooler. He brushes a stray crumb off By's knee. No subtlety in his interested gaze. All at once it's a joke, it's revenge for being answered like a stranger, it's an earnest play at squeezing something out of him. He's never met a tough nut he didn't want to crack. ]
But from what I have heard, [ from other people, clearly, as they suddenly hardly know one another, ] you are keen and clever, you are observant, compassionate but reasoned—usually. And cursed to spend so much time around both the high-born powerful and the low-born mouthy. Surely you have had one thought about it.
That's very diplomatic of you, Ambassador.
[ He takes his legs back so he can relocate to sit next to Byerly, with his typically-lowkey self-assurance made sharper and, arguably, cooler. He brushes a stray crumb off By's knee. No subtlety in his interested gaze. All at once it's a joke, it's revenge for being answered like a stranger, it's an earnest play at squeezing something out of him. He's never met a tough nut he didn't want to crack. ]
But from what I have heard, [ from other people, clearly, as they suddenly hardly know one another, ] you are keen and clever, you are observant, compassionate but reasoned—usually. And cursed to spend so much time around both the high-born powerful and the low-born mouthy. Surely you have had one thought about it.
[ His glance at Bastien is a little sheepish, because yes, it was shitty to give the public answer when Bastien has been so forthright. It's also a little thrilled, because having Bastien try to crack him is marvelous. It makes him feel like a mystery. It makes him feel like he's a fascinating person. It's a heady feeling. ]
Well.
[ Not giving this information up too easily. ]
I come from a famously conservative line.
Well.
[ Not giving this information up too easily. ]
I come from a famously conservative line.
And you were famously disowned by them.
[ He is a fascinating person. Bastien's interested search of his face isn't an act. The act is sitting so close, a little in his space, without taking his hand or leaning in his shoulder. Leaving room for tension. ]
But not for your politics. That would have been during King Cailan's reign, no? Maric's? No wars, no famines—there cannot much for a young nobleman to be political about.
[ He is a fascinating person. Bastien's interested search of his face isn't an act. The act is sitting so close, a little in his space, without taking his hand or leaning in his shoulder. Leaving room for tension. ]
But not for your politics. That would have been during King Cailan's reign, no? Maric's? No wars, no famines—there cannot much for a young nobleman to be political about.
Ahh. Of course. What does the half-Orlesian have to say about Orlais—that must have been tiresome.
Were you this restrained as a boy? Knobby-kneed and lustful and, [ with a slightly less mangled imitation of By’s accent than when he goofily failing to put in any effort, and a perfect imitation of his tone, ] not really political?
Were you this restrained as a boy? Knobby-kneed and lustful and, [ with a slightly less mangled imitation of By’s accent than when he goofily failing to put in any effort, and a perfect imitation of his tone, ] not really political?
[ By's smile broadens. Accurately perceived, Bastien. ]
Politics is too complicated. When you start talking about politics, people start hating you or liking you for reasons out of your control.
[ And By's game has always been carefully controlling people's fondness for or hatred of him. Cultivating feeling with care. ]
Not that the knobby-kneed pervert was cognizant of why the subject made him uncomfortable. He thought of himself as simply ignorant.
Politics is too complicated. When you start talking about politics, people start hating you or liking you for reasons out of your control.
[ And By's game has always been carefully controlling people's fondness for or hatred of him. Cultivating feeling with care. ]
Not that the knobby-kneed pervert was cognizant of why the subject made him uncomfortable. He thought of himself as simply ignorant.
It's funny, what we do without understanding why.
[ It comes out quieter than before, his expression changing by a fraction of a degree into a gentler interest. Not intentionally. It's a flood of care, seeping through the unguarded corners of his face as he's reminded of little By being unable to do anything to control his father's irrational hatred or the sudden withdrawal of his mother's love.
Bastien pauses his little game long enough to pull Byerly's hand up to his mouth, to kiss his knuckles.
Then it's back on. ]
You grew out of that quickly, I hope—thinking you were ignorant. But before long you were a spy who needed everyone to think you had no thoughts in your head, so they might try to fill it for you.
[ It comes out quieter than before, his expression changing by a fraction of a degree into a gentler interest. Not intentionally. It's a flood of care, seeping through the unguarded corners of his face as he's reminded of little By being unable to do anything to control his father's irrational hatred or the sudden withdrawal of his mother's love.
Bastien pauses his little game long enough to pull Byerly's hand up to his mouth, to kiss his knuckles.
Then it's back on. ]
You grew out of that quickly, I hope—thinking you were ignorant. But before long you were a spy who needed everyone to think you had no thoughts in your head, so they might try to fill it for you.
To be fair -
[ And this is half playing the game, but also half truthful - ]
I am ignorant. Every noble is.
[ That softness, that little kiss, those kind eyes, get a little caress, a touch of his hand to Bastien's thigh. He doesn't entirely know what brought it about, but he's grateful for it nevertheless. No one looks on him as charitably as Bastien looks on him - and it's nice, isn't it, to have someone who sees only the best in you. ]
[ And this is half playing the game, but also half truthful - ]
I am ignorant. Every noble is.
[ That softness, that little kiss, those kind eyes, get a little caress, a touch of his hand to Bastien's thigh. He doesn't entirely know what brought it about, but he's grateful for it nevertheless. No one looks on him as charitably as Bastien looks on him - and it's nice, isn't it, to have someone who sees only the best in you. ]
[ A yes-but-no sort of hum. ]
Nobles more than most. We don't know what it means to plant or sow, or to make things, or to truly rely on nothing save your own determination. A noble can never understand the plight of the truly impoverished, because he always has the coin of his name to barter with.
Nobles more than most. We don't know what it means to plant or sow, or to make things, or to truly rely on nothing save your own determination. A noble can never understand the plight of the truly impoverished, because he always has the coin of his name to barter with.
[ Such a rare thing in a noble, to not merely admit ignorance, but to believe the things they don't know matter. Bastien smiles an appreciative little smile. Not surprised, but pleased. Proud. All the noblemen in Thedas—all the men in Thedas—and he's caught the best one.
Game, though. ]
And a vagrant does not know what it means to manage a household or raise a fighting force. That should not bar either of you from having opinions.
Game, though. ]
And a vagrant does not know what it means to manage a household or raise a fighting force. That should not bar either of you from having opinions.
Edited 2022-03-23 03:15 (UTC)
Mmhm.
[ Bastien brushes his fingers against By’s neck where his head tilt has left it more exposed, just once, like someone who can’t help touching a painting. ]
I wasn’t any good at living by them. Definitely not at working by them. I always thought I might be someday. When I had enough money and collateral to survive it, then I would do something that mattered. Maybe tear the whole rotten Game apart. But always later, when it would be more realistic. I was as rotten as any of it.
[ And then he quit. It wasn’t unrelated. ]
But I had things I believed in. Like believing in the Maker while you sin.
[ Bastien brushes his fingers against By’s neck where his head tilt has left it more exposed, just once, like someone who can’t help touching a painting. ]
I wasn’t any good at living by them. Definitely not at working by them. I always thought I might be someday. When I had enough money and collateral to survive it, then I would do something that mattered. Maybe tear the whole rotten Game apart. But always later, when it would be more realistic. I was as rotten as any of it.
[ And then he quit. It wasn’t unrelated. ]
But I had things I believed in. Like believing in the Maker while you sin.
Hm.
[ That's - not the answer he was expecting. What did he expect? He supposes an answer along the lines of I forced them down. I didn't permit myself to feel anything. But that's never been Bastien. Bastien has never tried to destroy his soul. Even in winter, he tended his garden.
By feels the urge to kiss him. It's against the unspoken rules of their little game, of course. But he can't help but press a quick kiss to Bastien's lips.
Then - back to it. ]
Perhaps that's the difference between a Bard and a spy. The latter job demands...emotional monogamy, perhaps.
[ That's - not the answer he was expecting. What did he expect? He supposes an answer along the lines of I forced them down. I didn't permit myself to feel anything. But that's never been Bastien. Bastien has never tried to destroy his soul. Even in winter, he tended his garden.
By feels the urge to kiss him. It's against the unspoken rules of their little game, of course. But he can't help but press a quick kiss to Bastien's lips.
Then - back to it. ]
Perhaps that's the difference between a Bard and a spy. The latter job demands...emotional monogamy, perhaps.
[ Bastien smiles in the wake of the kiss; they are both terrible at this game. At this round of it, anyway. He’s sure they could be better if they really committed. ]
Monogamy. [ There’s extra Orlais in that scoff. Playing, and also making fun of himself—with a tiny inner seed, as there often is in self-deprecation, of real embarrassment. ] How common.
Loyalty and obedience are the all the belief some people need—but not you, I think, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur. You love your country for its good parts, but you do not measure everything in the world by how it benefits your Queen.
Monogamy. [ There’s extra Orlais in that scoff. Playing, and also making fun of himself—with a tiny inner seed, as there often is in self-deprecation, of real embarrassment. ] How common.
Loyalty and obedience are the all the belief some people need—but not you, I think, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur. You love your country for its good parts, but you do not measure everything in the world by how it benefits your Queen.
Some would consider that a flaw in me.
[ But: some. Byerly himself...Is he ashamed of it? He doesn't think so.
A small confession, outside the bounds of their game: ]
I can't count the number of times I've been reprimanded for exercising...excessive creativity. [ The number of times he's gone off mission when he's seen something that pricks at him. The number of times he's caused trouble by getting distracted. ]
But I don't know that soft-heartedness is political.
[ But: some. Byerly himself...Is he ashamed of it? He doesn't think so.
A small confession, outside the bounds of their game: ]
I can't count the number of times I've been reprimanded for exercising...excessive creativity. [ The number of times he's gone off mission when he's seen something that pricks at him. The number of times he's caused trouble by getting distracted. ]
But I don't know that soft-heartedness is political.
[ Excessive creativity. Bastien’s smile stays mild and aloof, but he quite obviously bites the inside of his lips—hiding a wider, delighted, admiring grin, but not hiding that he’s hiding it. ]
No. I suppose it isn’t.
[ He plucks and fidgets at the collar of Byerly’s shirt with a distracted distance, like he’s flirting with a stranger in a smoking parlor. ]
But it could be. If you see patterns in who needs your compassion, and you wonder what it would take to make it stop happening.
No. I suppose it isn’t.
[ He plucks and fidgets at the collar of Byerly’s shirt with a distracted distance, like he’s flirting with a stranger in a smoking parlor. ]
But it could be. If you see patterns in who needs your compassion, and you wonder what it would take to make it stop happening.
I don’t know. Tradition? Pride, wanting to be sure there is someone you will always be better than? Economics. Needing labor you can starve and overwork to be able to afford the life you want, and needing to believe that you aren’t wrong to do it. I have known men—and women, of course—to mistreat someone first, then hate them second.
[ He’s used it to his advantage, is what he means, on the occasions he needed a person with those inclinations to despise someone. Perhaps to despise him. ]
I suspect because every time they see them they feel some disgust they refuse to look at directly. So it becomes this person disgusts me, rather than I disgust myself.
[ He’s used it to his advantage, is what he means, on the occasions he needed a person with those inclinations to despise someone. Perhaps to despise him. ]
I suspect because every time they see them they feel some disgust they refuse to look at directly. So it becomes this person disgusts me, rather than I disgust myself.
[ And how much of that had Bastien absorbed? And how much of it had been in the course of his job? Not all of it; that's for certain. A little Marcher boy with the wrong accent...
A pinky hooks in Bastien's buttonhole. A little tug. I love you. Cleverest man I know. You outshine the diamonds of the court. ]
So emotions turn into politics there, as well.
A pinky hooks in Bastien's buttonhole. A little tug. I love you. Cleverest man I know. You outshine the diamonds of the court. ]
So emotions turn into politics there, as well.
Emotion and hunger. It’s all anyone is made of.
[ One of his hands folds over By’s, where it tugged his button hole, and squeezes it.
The other, with less heartfelt sincerity, puts fingertips to Byerly’s jaw and chin to tilt his aloof coquettish head into hard-to-escape eye contact. ]
You truly have never thought, in anger or pity, if I was in charge, then…?
[ One of his hands folds over By’s, where it tugged his button hole, and squeezes it.
The other, with less heartfelt sincerity, puts fingertips to Byerly’s jaw and chin to tilt his aloof coquettish head into hard-to-escape eye contact. ]
You truly have never thought, in anger or pity, if I was in charge, then…?
Ah, but you are not talking to everyone. You are talking to me. And I—
[ love you, think the world of you, want to learn everything about you and then learn it all over again, like a favorite song ]
—am very objective.
[ As objective as he is immune to those eyelashes. ]
[ love you, think the world of you, want to learn everything about you and then learn it all over again, like a favorite song ]
—am very objective.
[ As objective as he is immune to those eyelashes. ]
[ A puff of air escapes Bastien's nose, playful frustration at being stymied again. But then, on second thought— ]
I am going to count that as a political opinion. That's the fundamental question of politics, isn't it? Who should be in charge?
[ Perhaps this is cheating. But if he wins this game, they both win, as is hopefully made clear by the fact that he marks down his point by unbuttoning the first of By's many buttons. ]
Someone smarter than very smart, you say.
I am going to count that as a political opinion. That's the fundamental question of politics, isn't it? Who should be in charge?
[ Perhaps this is cheating. But if he wins this game, they both win, as is hopefully made clear by the fact that he marks down his point by unbuttoning the first of By's many buttons. ]
Someone smarter than very smart, you say.
No.
[ He hooks his fingers over the next button in line. By's pushed back on this before; it's not false humility or a passing demurral. So: game paused. His face and his voice are different, with the act set aside. Warmer and more intimate. ]
Why don't you think you're smart?
[ He hooks his fingers over the next button in line. By's pushed back on this before; it's not false humility or a passing demurral. So: game paused. His face and his voice are different, with the act set aside. Warmer and more intimate. ]
Why don't you think you're smart?
[ A crooked smile. A self-conscious laugh. ]
Because I'm not. [ His hand comes up, rubbing lovingly at Bastien's knuckle. ] When I was at lessons at the local Chantry, I was routinely shown up by the merchant's sons and fishermen's daughters. I'm cunning enough, but I'm not smart in the way that you are. I hate reading. And you should see me at sums - I never come up with the same answer twice. And whenever someone from the Research division starts talking to me about what they're doing, I nearly panic.
Because I'm not. [ His hand comes up, rubbing lovingly at Bastien's knuckle. ] When I was at lessons at the local Chantry, I was routinely shown up by the merchant's sons and fishermen's daughters. I'm cunning enough, but I'm not smart in the way that you are. I hate reading. And you should see me at sums - I never come up with the same answer twice. And whenever someone from the Research division starts talking to me about what they're doing, I nearly panic.
[ Bastien’s smile is fond, his eyes serious above it. ]
I don’t have the first idea what any of them are doing, either. And why should we? Mages and rifters and Valentine de Foncè—I don’t mean they aren’t brilliant, some of them, but they understand all of those things because they’ve spent years learning to. Or they got spit out of the Fade with ideas about magic gloves. One of the two.
And the things I like to read don’t make anyone smart. Not more than going to the theater. And—
[ Sums, fishermen’s daughters. He shakes his head a little and climbs out of the quibbly weeds. ]
I can’t play like you. I’m not sure I’ve met anyone who can. Not just the technical proficiency. The improvisation. The feeling. It is like you speak another language—which you also do better than me. I know you grew up on Orlesian, but you didn’t grow up on Antivan. I watched you learn bard sign in an evening that took me weeks, maybe months.
I’ve watched you pull together information, the sort that matters for what you are doing. How you focus in. And arguing with people the way you like to, spinning them up and letting nothing pass. That takes a quick mind.
And I think there is such a thing as moral intelligence, which, [ with affectionate sternness, ] I refuse to argue with you about. I’m right.
I don’t have the first idea what any of them are doing, either. And why should we? Mages and rifters and Valentine de Foncè—I don’t mean they aren’t brilliant, some of them, but they understand all of those things because they’ve spent years learning to. Or they got spit out of the Fade with ideas about magic gloves. One of the two.
And the things I like to read don’t make anyone smart. Not more than going to the theater. And—
[ Sums, fishermen’s daughters. He shakes his head a little and climbs out of the quibbly weeds. ]
I can’t play like you. I’m not sure I’ve met anyone who can. Not just the technical proficiency. The improvisation. The feeling. It is like you speak another language—which you also do better than me. I know you grew up on Orlesian, but you didn’t grow up on Antivan. I watched you learn bard sign in an evening that took me weeks, maybe months.
I’ve watched you pull together information, the sort that matters for what you are doing. How you focus in. And arguing with people the way you like to, spinning them up and letting nothing pass. That takes a quick mind.
And I think there is such a thing as moral intelligence, which, [ with affectionate sternness, ] I refuse to argue with you about. I’m right.
[ How strange it is to hear all that. Of all the things he's confessed, this is a strange one - an odd little pocket of hurt. Remembering the exasperation of the Chantry mothers as they tried to get him to sit still and focus, remembering the way he'd slip away from class to get a respite from it all. The way that climbing trees and chasing frogs had turned into idle gambling, mouthfuls of moonshine, kissing fishermen's daughters under their blouses. Slipping a hand down the trousers of the merchant's sons. Getting caught. Feeling the terror and thrill of knowing his father would be in one of his rages.
So much trouble would have been averted if he'd been smart enough to sit still.
But - Bastien had said it, hadn't he. It's funny, what we do without understanding why. ]
If you'd had school, if you'd had the proper books when you were a boy -
[ His voice is low and a little rough. He touches Bastien's cheek and leans his forehead against his. ]
You do understand it, the things they say - I've listened to you, the way you ask questions. Even if it's not all at once, you start to understand these fantastical ideas. If you'd just had their advantages, you could run rings around them. I want to spit in their eyes when they talk to you like you're simple.
[ And this isn't a refutation of the kind things Bastien said. Instead, if anything, it's a...complement to all that. ]
I'm smart enough to know how brilliant you are. And I'm smart enough to listen to you. I'd have everything I'd need to be a king if you were with me.
So much trouble would have been averted if he'd been smart enough to sit still.
But - Bastien had said it, hadn't he. It's funny, what we do without understanding why. ]
If you'd had school, if you'd had the proper books when you were a boy -
[ His voice is low and a little rough. He touches Bastien's cheek and leans his forehead against his. ]
You do understand it, the things they say - I've listened to you, the way you ask questions. Even if it's not all at once, you start to understand these fantastical ideas. If you'd just had their advantages, you could run rings around them. I want to spit in their eyes when they talk to you like you're simple.
[ And this isn't a refutation of the kind things Bastien said. Instead, if anything, it's a...complement to all that. ]
I'm smart enough to know how brilliant you are. And I'm smart enough to listen to you. I'd have everything I'd need to be a king if you were with me.
[ Bastien doesn’t beam at By; he glows, the brightness coming from somewhere deeper. For the praise. For the fact that By let Bastien praise him without putting up a fight. ]
I would need you, too. I need you now.
[ Maybe not in the desperate way of romance novels—which he’s never found romantic himself, all of that if you leave me I’ll die business. He’d live. But he’d live worse. He’d be less than he could be.
Bastien gives him a kiss, deep and urgent in a way that's less take off your clothes and more please understand how much you mean to me, and caps it off with a shameless nuzzle that would probably make the peanut gallery gag. ]
You'd be a wonderful king. I would hate watching you do it, because you would never sleep, and you would tear yourself to pieces wondering if everything you did was good enough, but you'd be wonderful. And I'd be a fantastic concubine.
I would need you, too. I need you now.
[ Maybe not in the desperate way of romance novels—which he’s never found romantic himself, all of that if you leave me I’ll die business. He’d live. But he’d live worse. He’d be less than he could be.
Bastien gives him a kiss, deep and urgent in a way that's less take off your clothes and more please understand how much you mean to me, and caps it off with a shameless nuzzle that would probably make the peanut gallery gag. ]
You'd be a wonderful king. I would hate watching you do it, because you would never sleep, and you would tear yourself to pieces wondering if everything you did was good enough, but you'd be wonderful. And I'd be a fantastic concubine.
Edited 2022-03-24 03:38 (UTC)
The best. I'd dress you in the gauziest things. And have you whisper to me about who we need to focus on helping.
[ Which - have they done king and concubine yet? Definitely one to introduce into the rotation. But it's not quite time to get distracted by that; they're still in the midst of sincerity. ]
So perhaps I am, occasionally, a bit political.
[ Which - have they done king and concubine yet? Definitely one to introduce into the rotation. But it's not quite time to get distracted by that; they're still in the midst of sincerity. ]
So perhaps I am, occasionally, a bit political.
Until the king does mad and slaughters all those who oppose him.
[ That's lighter than it usually is when Byerly gets anxious about the prospect of going mad. He doesn't really mean it. ]
At which point I suppose we'll have no nobles left, and will have to elevate the commoners.
[ That's lighter than it usually is when Byerly gets anxious about the prospect of going mad. He doesn't really mean it. ]
At which point I suppose we'll have no nobles left, and will have to elevate the commoners.
[ Dryly, ] Oh no.
[ Bastien takes a second to check his face. Ghost-hunting. But he can’t see anything haunted under the joke.
So he goes on— ]
Do you think there is a difference between them? Inherently, I mean, between nobles and commoners.
[ —with a little caution. If he weren’t so certain that Byerly thinks of him as an equal, he wouldn’t ask at all. Wouldn’t invite him to say something that might hurt that badly.
But there is still a chance he might say something that hurts a bit. ]
[ Bastien takes a second to check his face. Ghost-hunting. But he can’t see anything haunted under the joke.
So he goes on— ]
Do you think there is a difference between them? Inherently, I mean, between nobles and commoners.
[ —with a little caution. If he weren’t so certain that Byerly thinks of him as an equal, he wouldn’t ask at all. Wouldn’t invite him to say something that might hurt that badly.
But there is still a chance he might say something that hurts a bit. ]
Inherently? Of course not.
[ He needn't have been afraid. Byerly's answer is unhesitating, as certain as he would be if he were commenting on the salinity of the sea. ]
The only true difference - aside from the education afforded to nobles, of course - is that bloodlines come with certain reputations. And power comes from belief. If people believe you can lead, they follow. But those sorts of tales don't belong to nobles alone - King Calenhad himself came from common stock. Do you think there's a difference between them?
[ He needn't have been afraid. Byerly's answer is unhesitating, as certain as he would be if he were commenting on the salinity of the sea. ]
The only true difference - aside from the education afforded to nobles, of course - is that bloodlines come with certain reputations. And power comes from belief. If people believe you can lead, they follow. But those sorts of tales don't belong to nobles alone - King Calenhad himself came from common stock. Do you think there's a difference between them?
[ Bastien smiles, not so much relieved as feeling foolish for being nervous, and shakes his head.
Although, ] I think I used to. Not directly, but more like—you know how sometimes you will think someone is better looking than you—
Theoretically. [ He taps Byerly on his chin. ] If you can imagine yourself in the shoes of someone who is not the most beautiful man in Thedas. Then you might think someone is better looking than you, deep down, but on the surface you think, please, he is nothing special. His nose is crooked. And look there, I think that is a boil. And if he says to you he is better-looking, that is worse, but if he says you are better-looking, that is also worse, because clearly he’s an idiot or humoring you or both, so…
[ It’s only now that he realizes he just, in this very conversation, brought up inbred droolers. ]
Maybe sometimes I still do that.
Although, ] I think I used to. Not directly, but more like—you know how sometimes you will think someone is better looking than you—
Theoretically. [ He taps Byerly on his chin. ] If you can imagine yourself in the shoes of someone who is not the most beautiful man in Thedas. Then you might think someone is better looking than you, deep down, but on the surface you think, please, he is nothing special. His nose is crooked. And look there, I think that is a boil. And if he says to you he is better-looking, that is worse, but if he says you are better-looking, that is also worse, because clearly he’s an idiot or humoring you or both, so…
[ It’s only now that he realizes he just, in this very conversation, brought up inbred droolers. ]
Maybe sometimes I still do that.
[ Bastien’s cocky smile lingers, but his cheeks turn faintly pink, the traitors. When he realizes that they have, he rubs his thumb and fingers over them, like he can wipe it off, and averts his eyes to nod. ]
I trust you.
[ He could argue about most handsome, except of course it’s subjective. All he could ever want is for Byerly to think so.
He leans in and up to By’s ear. Whispering is silly, but it’s easier. ]
With all my heart, for all my life.
[ Sealed with a peck on the cheek.
Then he needs another scrap of bread immediately, to replenish his strength after the Herculean feat of saying that sober and fully-dressed and in the daylight, and he needs to keep moving along. ]
It was only a metaphor, though. I’m not worried about—it is just, not everyone sees it the way you do. They say someone like your Calenhad, he came from common stock, alright, but he became a king because there was something special about him, and all his children after him, and now that we are not all barbarians we have found all of these special people with their special blood and elevated them to where they belong.
I trust you.
[ He could argue about most handsome, except of course it’s subjective. All he could ever want is for Byerly to think so.
He leans in and up to By’s ear. Whispering is silly, but it’s easier. ]
With all my heart, for all my life.
[ Sealed with a peck on the cheek.
Then he needs another scrap of bread immediately, to replenish his strength after the Herculean feat of saying that sober and fully-dressed and in the daylight, and he needs to keep moving along. ]
It was only a metaphor, though. I’m not worried about—it is just, not everyone sees it the way you do. They say someone like your Calenhad, he came from common stock, alright, but he became a king because there was something special about him, and all his children after him, and now that we are not all barbarians we have found all of these special people with their special blood and elevated them to where they belong.
[ With all my heart. For all my life. These are things he can gather and save, like coins for a miser. Never to spend, only to hold, to take out and admire when the echoes in his head sound too unkind. ]
One might argue we're still barbarians.
[ Not because that's a counterargument; just to amuse Bastien with his wit. ]
But anyone who thinks that...I've known men of the nobility who do live that word, nobility, but I've known many more who are vain, base, stupid, greedy. And I've known a mix of the same amongst commoners. Anyone who really thinks there's a difference, a meaningful difference, is a fool. Which only goes so far, of course - because a man can be a fool and still have power, you can still be at the mercy of fools - but they're a fool all the same.
One might argue we're still barbarians.
[ Not because that's a counterargument; just to amuse Bastien with his wit. ]
But anyone who thinks that...I've known men of the nobility who do live that word, nobility, but I've known many more who are vain, base, stupid, greedy. And I've known a mix of the same amongst commoners. Anyone who really thinks there's a difference, a meaningful difference, is a fool. Which only goes so far, of course - because a man can be a fool and still have power, you can still be at the mercy of fools - but they're a fool all the same.
[ The wit gets a laugh, the rest of it pleased attention while Bastien chews.
He doesn’t always feel the same. In Orlais even the commoners’ beloved hero was Lord Remi Vascal, Bastien’s own namesake a duke. The nobles in Val Royeaux were untouchable and unknowable. He didn’t see a nobleman’s bare face until he was eighteen, and then only in the dark. The admiration and envy and fear and mystery all fed each other, and even when he had proof that they bled like anyone else dotting his sleeves, they felt like something separate.
But it’s been years. He’s learned better. There are crevices of resentment and hunger that the learning hasn’t reached, but with the better parts of him, he thinks Byerly is right. ]
Maybe we do not wait for slaughter, then, in Byerlia—Byerland. Byerland is much better. We are calling it Byerland, and maybe we do not need to kill all of the nobles before some commoners can come to your Landsmeet.
He doesn’t always feel the same. In Orlais even the commoners’ beloved hero was Lord Remi Vascal, Bastien’s own namesake a duke. The nobles in Val Royeaux were untouchable and unknowable. He didn’t see a nobleman’s bare face until he was eighteen, and then only in the dark. The admiration and envy and fear and mystery all fed each other, and even when he had proof that they bled like anyone else dotting his sleeves, they felt like something separate.
But it’s been years. He’s learned better. There are crevices of resentment and hunger that the learning hasn’t reached, but with the better parts of him, he thinks Byerly is right. ]
Maybe we do not wait for slaughter, then, in Byerlia—Byerland. Byerland is much better. We are calling it Byerland, and maybe we do not need to kill all of the nobles before some commoners can come to your Landsmeet.
[ He gives a skeptical sort of hum. ]
A little slaughter? I really do know a lot of people who deserve it.
[ He takes a piece of bread and nibbles at it like a mouse, all front teeth. ]
But if you insist. We shall upend the social order altogether in Byerland. The sharing of power without the doing of violence first. Unheard of!
A little slaughter? I really do know a lot of people who deserve it.
[ He takes a piece of bread and nibbles at it like a mouse, all front teeth. ]
But if you insist. We shall upend the social order altogether in Byerland. The sharing of power without the doing of violence first. Unheard of!
[ Pronounced with the sort of relish usually reserved for dirty talk: ]
Paroxysms.
[ He drapes his arm around Byerly’s shoulders in a way that would pass for platonic camaraderie, if someone who knew nothing else about them caught a glimpse. ]
And before they have had time to recover—what next?
Paroxysms.
[ He drapes his arm around Byerly’s shoulders in a way that would pass for platonic camaraderie, if someone who knew nothing else about them caught a glimpse. ]
And before they have had time to recover—what next?
Maybe the Mad... About His Handsome Concubine.
Or Byerly the Perverted in the Very Best and Most Admirable Ways. Were every man so innovative in bed, there would be no more wars. Everyone would be too happy all of the time.
And the Sinister... No, I cannot make that one work.
[ Bastien has to sit on one of his knees, to be close enough to Byerly's height to hug him one-armed into his chest and shoulder, so that's what he does. ]
Anyway, they will mostly call you Byerly the Dramatic but Gentle. They will tell their children: every day when his advisors began bickering, he would look at them and ask, Do I need to hire an executioner? Is that what it takes to get things done around here? But he never did hire one, the softie.
Or Byerly the Perverted in the Very Best and Most Admirable Ways. Were every man so innovative in bed, there would be no more wars. Everyone would be too happy all of the time.
And the Sinister... No, I cannot make that one work.
[ Bastien has to sit on one of his knees, to be close enough to Byerly's height to hug him one-armed into his chest and shoulder, so that's what he does. ]
Anyway, they will mostly call you Byerly the Dramatic but Gentle. They will tell their children: every day when his advisors began bickering, he would look at them and ask, Do I need to hire an executioner? Is that what it takes to get things done around here? But he never did hire one, the softie.
Mmhm, [ with lazy, comfortable pride—not pride in his terrible impression, pride in Byerly and his soft, sweet heart.
And his dramatics. Bastien likes them. ]
But I will call you King By the Goatherd, or the Soggy Chicken, or the Most Cherished, or… Can I call you mine?
[ A serious question, not really about some hypothetical royal future. He still sounds comfortable and pleased, not shy and tentative like he might have some months ago, except for the inherent shyness of feeling the need to ask first. ]
When we are alone, you know, and we can know between us that I don’t mean only mine.
And his dramatics. Bastien likes them. ]
But I will call you King By the Goatherd, or the Soggy Chicken, or the Most Cherished, or… Can I call you mine?
[ A serious question, not really about some hypothetical royal future. He still sounds comfortable and pleased, not shy and tentative like he might have some months ago, except for the inherent shyness of feeling the need to ask first. ]
When we are alone, you know, and we can know between us that I don’t mean only mine.
Yes.
[ Without hesitation. He's still nuzzling against the crook of Bastien's neck, because there's a bit of shyness to him, too, in saying this. But there's no doubt, from the aching sincerity of his voice, that he means it. ]
I am yours. If my soul were drawn from my body, dearest Bastien, it would find its way to you and wrap around your ankles like a purring cat. There is no part of me that is not wholly in your mercy.
[ Without hesitation. He's still nuzzling against the crook of Bastien's neck, because there's a bit of shyness to him, too, in saying this. But there's no doubt, from the aching sincerity of his voice, that he means it. ]
I am yours. If my soul were drawn from my body, dearest Bastien, it would find its way to you and wrap around your ankles like a purring cat. There is no part of me that is not wholly in your mercy.
[ It'd be invisible with any distance, but pressed this close, there's no disguising the single wave of tension through the muscles in Bastien's neck and chest. But it's not because he's tense, exactly. It's just his body gripping around the urge to laugh or choke or exhale a burst of unexpected relief, all so second-nature to suppress that sometimes it fully substitutes for his first nature. It will still bubble out eventually—perhaps in the lazy afterglow of their inevitable king-and-concubine performance. Then he'll be giddy and reverent, surveying his riches, silky hair to keen mind to good heart to beloved smelly feet. He'll leave a love bite on the back of one of By's knees.
For now he only squeezes him in more firmly, and smiles into his hair, and spends several silent seconds letting the warmth of it spread all the way to his toes. And at the end of them, he says, ]
Your soul would be a cat.
For now he only squeezes him in more firmly, and smiles into his hair, and spends several silent seconds letting the warmth of it spread all the way to his toes. And at the end of them, he says, ]
Your soul would be a cat.
[ The tension worries him for a moment. He doesn't have the instinctual knowledge of Bastien that, if all goes right in life, he'll have someday; he feels that and worries he's said something wrong. It takes a moment's reasoning (and the warmth of Bastien cuddling him) to be able to understand that, no, it wasn't bad: that tension was suppression, pressing down a stronger reaction.
To sweet-talk a Bard so well that they physically have to reel themselves in. That's an accomplishment. ]
And yours would be... [ Hm. ] Fox feels almost too easy.
To sweet-talk a Bard so well that they physically have to reel themselves in. That's an accomplishment. ]
And yours would be... [ Hm. ] Fox feels almost too easy.
Ooh, putting me through the gauntlet.
[ Five minutes ago, or five minutes from now, he might have made a joke of it or approached it like a challenge to skillfully construct the sweetest kiss ever seen in Thedas. But By just wrung most of the last lingering droplets of worry out of his heart—the prideful what does it make me if I'm his and he's not mine droplets. So Bastien kisses him artlessly, simply and slowly, exactly how he wants to, like good night or good morning or just because, and like they're never going to run out of time.
He does bite By's mouth a little, though—he's not not horny—before he moves a few inches back to await his soul's judgment. ]
[ Five minutes ago, or five minutes from now, he might have made a joke of it or approached it like a challenge to skillfully construct the sweetest kiss ever seen in Thedas. But By just wrung most of the last lingering droplets of worry out of his heart—the prideful what does it make me if I'm his and he's not mine droplets. So Bastien kisses him artlessly, simply and slowly, exactly how he wants to, like good night or good morning or just because, and like they're never going to run out of time.
He does bite By's mouth a little, though—he's not not horny—before he moves a few inches back to await his soul's judgment. ]
Renard.
[ It's whispered tenderly against Bastien's lips. It was a good kiss. It was an honest kiss. Maker, to get an honest kiss out of a Bard - to have Bastien's heart in his hands, to be with him and not a persona he's constructed... ]
My darling fox. So clever. So sly.
[ It's whispered tenderly against Bastien's lips. It was a good kiss. It was an honest kiss. Maker, to get an honest kiss out of a Bard - to have Bastien's heart in his hands, to be with him and not a persona he's constructed... ]
My darling fox. So clever. So sly.
[ Bastien does a miniature victorious fist pump. ]
Et mon chaton.
[ He steals another, quicker kiss. Then he stands up, with a staying hand on By's chest to discourage him from following, and crosses the room to dig mysteriously through a cabinet. ]
Or—will you be happy as a cat? The loyal kind, of course. More elegant and independent than a dog, but just as friendly to the right people. The kind who likes to sleep purring on chests and likes to knock things off tables.
But if you would rather be something else, I'll hear you out.
Et mon chaton.
[ He steals another, quicker kiss. Then he stands up, with a staying hand on By's chest to discourage him from following, and crosses the room to dig mysteriously through a cabinet. ]
Or—will you be happy as a cat? The loyal kind, of course. More elegant and independent than a dog, but just as friendly to the right people. The kind who likes to sleep purring on chests and likes to knock things off tables.
But if you would rather be something else, I'll hear you out.
[ By laughs, and lounges back, waiting for what will no doubt be a present for him. A well-deserved present. ]
And whose claws come out if you pet them too vigorously, or if you touch their bellies - and who roll around in catmint when you give them some - Yes. I've enough self-awareness to know that cat suits me very well.
And whose claws come out if you pet them too vigorously, or if you touch their bellies - and who roll around in catmint when you give them some - Yes. I've enough self-awareness to know that cat suits me very well.
[ Bastien glances back to smile: yes, that's By, and he loves it, claws and all. ]
Thank you for letting me touch your soft fluffy belly sometimes. It's a great honor.
[ It's also not entirely a metaphor, at the moment. He comes back to Byerly not with a gift— ☹ —but with a small wooden box of sewing supplies and a penknife. He sinks to sit between Byerly's knees; he slices a button with a fraying thread all the way free. ]
You were going to lose this one, [ he explains as an aside, setting the button on By's thigh, ] the next time someone got excited about removing your shirt.
[ It could wait until the shirt is no longer on Byerly's person. Obviously. But he thinks it's hot, to have sharp things so close to someone's skin but only use them to take care. ]
Anyway, you can't forget falling asleep in the sun and having legs that go every which way. [ He illustrates with his arms (and the knife, before snapping it shut). ] And the pure contrariness of having a feline soul in Ferelden.
Thank you for letting me touch your soft fluffy belly sometimes. It's a great honor.
[ It's also not entirely a metaphor, at the moment. He comes back to Byerly not with a gift— ☹ —but with a small wooden box of sewing supplies and a penknife. He sinks to sit between Byerly's knees; he slices a button with a fraying thread all the way free. ]
You were going to lose this one, [ he explains as an aside, setting the button on By's thigh, ] the next time someone got excited about removing your shirt.
[ It could wait until the shirt is no longer on Byerly's person. Obviously. But he thinks it's hot, to have sharp things so close to someone's skin but only use them to take care. ]
Anyway, you can't forget falling asleep in the sun and having legs that go every which way. [ He illustrates with his arms (and the knife, before snapping it shut). ] And the pure contrariness of having a feline soul in Ferelden.
[ Yes. This is a gift. Byerly runs his fingers through Bastien's hair as he works, and lightly scratches his scalp, a smile on his lips, the trembling tension of sheer adoration like a taut thread in his chest. ]
You really understand me.
[ Which is phrased wryly, but there's a slight undercurrent of awe in it. To be understood. Not observed, not assumed about, not prodded and pushed. Not judged. Just understood. ]
You really understand me.
[ Which is phrased wryly, but there's a slight undercurrent of awe in it. To be understood. Not observed, not assumed about, not prodded and pushed. Not judged. Just understood. ]
[ Bastien doesn’t look up from the needle he’s threading, head tilted to encourage the scratching. ]
You let me.
[ With mirrored awe. With gratitude. The situation is different—incredibly different—and he doesn’t think anyone is to blame, but the fact remains that he could never have done what Alexandrie did, in the face of so much resistance. ]
If you had pushed me away, I wouldn’t have pushed back. [ He uses the needle tip to pick loose thread from where the button was before. ] In the beginning. Not now. Now you are trapped forever.
[ Perhaps more aspirational than true. But it would at least require more pushing than Byerly is ever likely to do unless he truly means it. ]
You let me.
[ With mirrored awe. With gratitude. The situation is different—incredibly different—and he doesn’t think anyone is to blame, but the fact remains that he could never have done what Alexandrie did, in the face of so much resistance. ]
If you had pushed me away, I wouldn’t have pushed back. [ He uses the needle tip to pick loose thread from where the button was before. ] In the beginning. Not now. Now you are trapped forever.
[ Perhaps more aspirational than true. But it would at least require more pushing than Byerly is ever likely to do unless he truly means it. ]
[ He hums in acknowledgment. That is a strange thing, isn't it? He's learned enough about himself, here at Riftwatch, with Bastien and with Alexandrie and with others, to understand that that is something he struggles with - like a bully, pushing the kind ones down into the mud when they start getting too friendly. That he fears seeing kind eyes looking upon his true ugliness, that he fears the moments when gentle curiosity turns into horrified disgust. But he let sweet Bastien see him, and didn't push. Why? ]
You were very sneaky.
[ That's a big part of it. Subtle as a Bard ever was. ]
You were very sneaky.
[ That's a big part of it. Subtle as a Bard ever was. ]
Comme un renard.
[ He smooths his own mustache, silly, before settling in to see the button back on, carefully avoiding any pokes. ]
And I wanted to figure you out, and you wanted to figure me out, [ he proposes, ] and there is not much more charming and disarming than feeling interested and interesting at the same time.
[ He smooths his own mustache, silly, before settling in to see the button back on, carefully avoiding any pokes. ]
And I wanted to figure you out, and you wanted to figure me out, [ he proposes, ] and there is not much more charming and disarming than feeling interested and interesting at the same time.
[ Bastien’s hands still long enough for him to look up, touched and smiling. He’d always assumed the truth—the truth aside from the murder and blackmail parts, and sometimes even those—would bore anyone who learned it. Not even a properly tragic orphan, behind the curtain.
But he doesn’t for a second doubt that By means it. ]
It’s always felt like the opposite, to me. I think it always will, even we are eighty and repeating ourselves all the time.
[ He ties off the thread for the button, gives it a tug, and offers one of the remaining handful of basic biographical facts he has yet to volunteer, since it’s topical: ]
My father was a tailor. Not a good one—or, I don’t know, maybe he used to be. Maybe he was good for Kaiten.
[ He can’t explain that the hours his father fussed over his clothes, even if it was only because ragged children were a bad advertisement, were some of the only hours he can recall feeling looked-after. But it’s there, wordlessly, while he trims and tucks the thread and gives By’s chest an all done pat. ]
But he doesn’t for a second doubt that By means it. ]
It’s always felt like the opposite, to me. I think it always will, even we are eighty and repeating ourselves all the time.
[ He ties off the thread for the button, gives it a tug, and offers one of the remaining handful of basic biographical facts he has yet to volunteer, since it’s topical: ]
My father was a tailor. Not a good one—or, I don’t know, maybe he used to be. Maybe he was good for Kaiten.
[ He can’t explain that the hours his father fussed over his clothes, even if it was only because ragged children were a bad advertisement, were some of the only hours he can recall feeling looked-after. But it’s there, wordlessly, while he trims and tucks the thread and gives By’s chest an all done pat. ]
[ Ah. The care takes on a sudden new dimension. Not just a sweet gesture, and not anything suggestive (because it had been a remarkably chaste act, considering what it's usually like when one of them is kneeling) - instead, an act of care. An act of deep and profound and heartfelt care. ]
I made my clothes. Mine and Nadine's. Not from scratch, mostly by repurposing what was in storage, but -
[ Maybe it's part of the reason he's such a peacock now. The reason he loves to buy new things, even with his meager cash, and then discard them soon as he's able. He didn't ever have a mother or a father sewing the buttons back on - he had to learn for himself. The height of luxury, to toss torn things aside, instead of using the daylight hours to mend and alter with awkward and uneven stitches.
But what a pleasure it is to be taken care of.
He tugs at Bastien's lapels, pulling him up. Kisses him warmly on the lips, hand caressing his lovely cheekbone. ]
Thank you.
I made my clothes. Mine and Nadine's. Not from scratch, mostly by repurposing what was in storage, but -
[ Maybe it's part of the reason he's such a peacock now. The reason he loves to buy new things, even with his meager cash, and then discard them soon as he's able. He didn't ever have a mother or a father sewing the buttons back on - he had to learn for himself. The height of luxury, to toss torn things aside, instead of using the daylight hours to mend and alter with awkward and uneven stitches.
But what a pleasure it is to be taken care of.
He tugs at Bastien's lapels, pulling him up. Kisses him warmly on the lips, hand caressing his lovely cheekbone. ]
Thank you.
You’re welcome.
[ The way he says it, it sounds almost more like a thank you back. For getting it. For letting him. He’s not surprised to learn Byerly was on his own in this, too—not after the sight of his sweet little raggedy ghost.
So Lady Sidony and Alexandrie can keep him in fine clothes and beautiful embroidery, if all goes well and the war ever ends, and they can liberate silk from the overstuffed closets of the wealthy, and this is the part of it that Bastien can do: little pieces, kept in place. Rich or horribly poor or (most likely) getting by alright but oppressed in his clothes-tossing habits by Bastien’s tyrannical budget—Byerly will never have a tattered hem again.
Bastien keeps his head where it is and slides his legs up and around to kneel over By’s thighs, arms looped around his shoulders, enjoying another opportunity to be the tall one for a minute or two. ]
Have you written to her yet?
[ The way he says it, it sounds almost more like a thank you back. For getting it. For letting him. He’s not surprised to learn Byerly was on his own in this, too—not after the sight of his sweet little raggedy ghost.
So Lady Sidony and Alexandrie can keep him in fine clothes and beautiful embroidery, if all goes well and the war ever ends, and they can liberate silk from the overstuffed closets of the wealthy, and this is the part of it that Bastien can do: little pieces, kept in place. Rich or horribly poor or (most likely) getting by alright but oppressed in his clothes-tossing habits by Bastien’s tyrannical budget—Byerly will never have a tattered hem again.
Bastien keeps his head where it is and slides his legs up and around to kneel over By’s thighs, arms looped around his shoulders, enjoying another opportunity to be the tall one for a minute or two. ]
Have you written to her yet?
Edited 2022-04-05 21:46 (UTC)
Yes.
[ There's a bit of tension that creeps into Byerly at the question. Not bad tension, per se - there isn't a sense that Bastien shouldn't have asked the question - but still. He's tense, even as his arms come up to encircle Bastien's waist. ]
I haven't heard back yet.
[ There's a bit of tension that creeps into Byerly at the question. Not bad tension, per se - there isn't a sense that Bastien shouldn't have asked the question - but still. He's tense, even as his arms come up to encircle Bastien's waist. ]
I haven't heard back yet.
[ You will, he wants to say. He believes it with all of his heart and half of his brain. The other half of his brain thinks maybe Byerly won’t, and if Bastien keeps saying you will, you will forever, it will make it worse.
So: ]
It's a long way for a letter to travel, mon roi vaillant. And whatever happens, it will be alright.
[ He lowers his head, forehead to Byerly’s hairline, and looks down at the planes of his cheeks and nose and his long eyelashes. Bastien can feel the new tightness in his shoulders. All that love, all those years of care and protection, all bound to a piece of paper that could be in his sister’s hands, or in the sea, or anywhere in Thedas. So if he doesn’t ever hear back, Bastien will interfere. At minimum he'll interfere enough to be sure it's intentional, that no letters were lost, because what sister in her right mind wouldn't want a brother like Byerly—or maybe he'll interfere more, and By can be cross with him if he wants to be. But he hopes he hears back. ]
So: ]
It's a long way for a letter to travel, mon roi vaillant. And whatever happens, it will be alright.
[ He lowers his head, forehead to Byerly’s hairline, and looks down at the planes of his cheeks and nose and his long eyelashes. Bastien can feel the new tightness in his shoulders. All that love, all those years of care and protection, all bound to a piece of paper that could be in his sister’s hands, or in the sea, or anywhere in Thedas. So if he doesn’t ever hear back, Bastien will interfere. At minimum he'll interfere enough to be sure it's intentional, that no letters were lost, because what sister in her right mind wouldn't want a brother like Byerly—or maybe he'll interfere more, and By can be cross with him if he wants to be. But he hopes he hears back. ]
It's only been a few weeks since I sent it.
[ It's a little bit agreement. It's more reassurance - a quiet murmur to himself, something he's been telling himself to keep his courage up. It will be all right - Maker, he hopes it will be all right - because Nadine was always forgiving, always supportive. And because in the past few years, By has shakily offered his heart to more than one person, and instead of tearing the tender little muscle to shreds they've beheld it like a treasure. It's the sort of thing that builds a bit of bravery. ]
I won't throw myself into the sea. No matter what happens. I promise.
[ It's a little bit agreement. It's more reassurance - a quiet murmur to himself, something he's been telling himself to keep his courage up. It will be all right - Maker, he hopes it will be all right - because Nadine was always forgiving, always supportive. And because in the past few years, By has shakily offered his heart to more than one person, and instead of tearing the tender little muscle to shreds they've beheld it like a treasure. It's the sort of thing that builds a bit of bravery. ]
I won't throw myself into the sea. No matter what happens. I promise.
[ Bastien kisses his forehead—something he does plenty, dropping off this or that at Byerly's desk, but enjoys every time—and sits back a little further to smile at him. ]
Do you remember the first night you stayed in my bed? [ He better. ] You said you were going to throw yourself into the harbor. After that, that's when I knew for sure that I loved you. I thought I might, before, but if you could be that miserable and unruly and I still just wanted to be near you—no question.
Do you remember the first night you stayed in my bed? [ He better. ] You said you were going to throw yourself into the harbor. After that, that's when I knew for sure that I loved you. I thought I might, before, but if you could be that miserable and unruly and I still just wanted to be near you—no question.
[ A little huffed laugh. ]
I don't remember that, specifically. But it sounds like me.
[ He leans forward, touching that forehead against Bastien's shoulder. To be tolerated even when you are a monster...Yes. That's love. ]
I'm glad I didn't. I would have missed out on something wonderful.
[ Then, a moment, and - ]
Have you reached out to your family?
I don't remember that, specifically. But it sounds like me.
[ He leans forward, touching that forehead against Bastien's shoulder. To be tolerated even when you are a monster...Yes. That's love. ]
I'm glad I didn't. I would have missed out on something wonderful.
[ Then, a moment, and - ]
Have you reached out to your family?
[ Bastien slides his hand into Byerly’s hair to keep him where he is, and he huffs; it’s half a laugh, half a sigh, because he should have realized he was setting himself up to admit hypocrisy. ]
No. I don’t even know if they’re there. And I.
[ An explanation squirms around in his chest, but it’s another feeling he doesn’t have words for. What comes out instead is an adjacent anecdote: ]
I heard my father. In that castle, with the spirits. I didn’t see him, I just—that’s how it happened for real, too, the last time. I heard him talking, so I hid until he was gone. He told my friends to tell me to go home, because they were leaving, and they weren’t going to wait.
But he’d been saying we were going to leave for years, and we never had, so I thought– [ with a voice like an eye roll ] —sure, alright.
No. I don’t even know if they’re there. And I.
[ An explanation squirms around in his chest, but it’s another feeling he doesn’t have words for. What comes out instead is an adjacent anecdote: ]
I heard my father. In that castle, with the spirits. I didn’t see him, I just—that’s how it happened for real, too, the last time. I heard him talking, so I hid until he was gone. He told my friends to tell me to go home, because they were leaving, and they weren’t going to wait.
But he’d been saying we were going to leave for years, and we never had, so I thought– [ with a voice like an eye roll ] —sure, alright.
Your wife, and Barrow. But he was speaking his shitty Orlesian.
[ There’s fondness in that descriptor. And regret. It embarrassed him when he was a child—he would jump in to talk for his father, to the locals, impatient and humiliated when when he struggled with conjugation and declension—but hearing it again felt like a hand wrapping directly around his heart. ]
They didn’t understand. I acted like I didn’t know what it was.
[ There’s fondness in that descriptor. And regret. It embarrassed him when he was a child—he would jump in to talk for his father, to the locals, impatient and humiliated when when he struggled with conjugation and declension—but hearing it again felt like a hand wrapping directly around his heart. ]
They didn’t understand. I acted like I didn’t know what it was.
[ A small nod. That was the heart of the question: how did you react? When it came down to it, what was the story you needed to tell? And the answer is, apparently: to deny it, to silence it.
He strokes the side of Bastien's face. ]
What was it like for you? Hearing it?
He strokes the side of Bastien's face. ]
What was it like for you? Hearing it?
[ Bastien catches Byerly’s hand on his face and holds it there, a moment of perplexity at the question segueing into a grateful little smile when he realizes By’s trying to help him work through it. ]
I missed him. I didn’t think I did, but I do. But I was—
[ He has to circle it. ]
I don’t blame them. I left first. I hadn’t been home in months. The last time I saw my sister in the market, I told her I was never going back. And I was a third of their income, at least. They probably couldn’t afford to live for long without me.
[ All true. But this is why he’s afraid to be difficult, to make demands, to ever require patience from anyone he doesn’t want to lose. This lesson that he would. That if he was hard to love then even the people most obligated to love him wouldn’t be able to keep doing it.
But Byerly said he was difficult. Tricky, and worth it. That’s enough of a solid foundation for him to stand on, to reach the kernel of anger at the center of the tangle and say, ]
It’s only, they could have waited a little longer.
I missed him. I didn’t think I did, but I do. But I was—
[ He has to circle it. ]
I don’t blame them. I left first. I hadn’t been home in months. The last time I saw my sister in the market, I told her I was never going back. And I was a third of their income, at least. They probably couldn’t afford to live for long without me.
[ All true. But this is why he’s afraid to be difficult, to make demands, to ever require patience from anyone he doesn’t want to lose. This lesson that he would. That if he was hard to love then even the people most obligated to love him wouldn’t be able to keep doing it.
But Byerly said he was difficult. Tricky, and worth it. That’s enough of a solid foundation for him to stand on, to reach the kernel of anger at the center of the tangle and say, ]
It’s only, they could have waited a little longer.
[ Oh, my Bastien. Byerly's hand tightens on Bastien's a moment, tightens nearly to the point of pain for a moment before Byerly makes himself relax. But the emotion still shines through on his face - a glimmer of grief he can't suppress before it shows up. ]
A child - tries things out. Runs away and reappears. Says they'll disappear forever and then slinks back home.
Parents don't have that right. They owe you more.
[ Then, roughly: ]
I think they were bastards. I've thought they were bastards since you first told me anything about what they did.
A child - tries things out. Runs away and reappears. Says they'll disappear forever and then slinks back home.
Parents don't have that right. They owe you more.
[ Then, roughly: ]
I think they were bastards. I've thought they were bastards since you first told me anything about what they did.
[ There’s part of him that wants to explain: he was a teenager, old enough to better. They were younger than he is now, too young to know better. They had four other children to worry about. They’d spent so long trying their awful bests. They were nothing like Byerly’s father.
But if Byerly, with a bastard-to-end-all-bastards for a father and a mother who abandoned him day after day without even leaving—if Byerly says they were wrong, even accounting for his obvious pro-Bastien bias, it has to be a little true. ]
Yeah.
[ Simple, quiet. But revelatory, after twenty-five years of insisting it was his own choice, to have permission to be angry.
He squeezes By’s hand in answer, not quite so hard. ]
But I do want to see them. [ It’s easier to be sure, with that nugget of squirming misery labeled something more specific than ??? bad feeling, do not touch. ] If they’re alive. And my brothers and sisters—they probably have children. I’ll look into it. I will.
If I find them, you have to come with me.
But if Byerly, with a bastard-to-end-all-bastards for a father and a mother who abandoned him day after day without even leaving—if Byerly says they were wrong, even accounting for his obvious pro-Bastien bias, it has to be a little true. ]
Yeah.
[ Simple, quiet. But revelatory, after twenty-five years of insisting it was his own choice, to have permission to be angry.
He squeezes By’s hand in answer, not quite so hard. ]
But I do want to see them. [ It’s easier to be sure, with that nugget of squirming misery labeled something more specific than ??? bad feeling, do not touch. ] If they’re alive. And my brothers and sisters—they probably have children. I’ll look into it. I will.
If I find them, you have to come with me.
[ That simple yeah is nice. For a moment, By is almost suspicious of it - shouldn't there be more argument? More resistance? More emotional torment? But that's Bastien's way. In contrast to Byerly's high-key drama, Bastien is steady, thoughtful, and decisive. That would be his way of thinking through such a cruel and heart wrenching thing. ]
Of course.
[ His manner is soft. He gives another squeeze in return, gentler still. ]
Though I demand to be called Uncle Byerly.
Of course.
[ His manner is soft. He gives another squeeze in return, gentler still. ]
Though I demand to be called Uncle Byerly.
[ That makes a grin break through his pensive frown. There’s a flare of certainty that he will find them, and they’ll be alive and well and happy to see him, and they’ll have a half-dozen children among them, each one more enraptured than the last with this tall, impossibly handsome Fereldan, drawling jokes that go over their heads and a little awkward with the littlest ones but still unmistakably kind. He can see it, clear as day. Curly-headed kids swarming him like a litter of kittens at mealtime. ]
Uncle By.
[ And he would be—Uncle Laith, probably, which is where his clarity and certainty crumbles. If he were someone else it might panic him. But he only puts it aside, a bridge to cross when he comes to it. None of them will call him anything if he can’t find them.
Anyway, more importantly: ]
Cousin Whiskey.
Uncle By.
[ And he would be—Uncle Laith, probably, which is where his clarity and certainty crumbles. If he were someone else it might panic him. But he only puts it aside, a bridge to cross when he comes to it. None of them will call him anything if he can’t find them.
Anyway, more importantly: ]
Cousin Whiskey.
The best.
[ His bent legs are falling asleep, so he collapses over to the side to lie down and stretch them out. ]
Like a mother with her puppies. She’d be good at that, too, but we would have to be ready to keep every one of them.
[ Not really.
Maybe not really. ]
[ His bent legs are falling asleep, so he collapses over to the side to lie down and stretch them out. ]
Like a mother with her puppies. She’d be good at that, too, but we would have to be ready to keep every one of them.
[ Not really.
Maybe not really. ]
Threatening. Like you threaten me with coffee and chocolate?
[ His attempt at incredulous offense is ruined by laughter of his own, which tapers off slowly. In its wake he’s quiet for a stretch, smiling at the ceiling and clearly thinking, while he lets it sink in: they left him, and they shouldn’t have, but he’s going to find them, and even if it turns out that he can’t he’ll still have Byerly, who’s as much Bastien’s as Bastien is his, who wants to be Uncle Byerly, and they’ll have Whiskey, and that’s not a bad family at all. That’s a great one.
When he feels a little more settled, he reaches an arm out from where he’s lying to grasp around for one last piece of bread. ]
Nadine has children?
[ Byerly mentioned them—but only in the context of fear, of thinking she might not let him ever be alone with them. Maybe they were only hypothetical children. ]
[ His attempt at incredulous offense is ruined by laughter of his own, which tapers off slowly. In its wake he’s quiet for a stretch, smiling at the ceiling and clearly thinking, while he lets it sink in: they left him, and they shouldn’t have, but he’s going to find them, and even if it turns out that he can’t he’ll still have Byerly, who’s as much Bastien’s as Bastien is his, who wants to be Uncle Byerly, and they’ll have Whiskey, and that’s not a bad family at all. That’s a great one.
When he feels a little more settled, he reaches an arm out from where he’s lying to grasp around for one last piece of bread. ]
Nadine has children?
[ Byerly mentioned them—but only in the context of fear, of thinking she might not let him ever be alone with them. Maybe they were only hypothetical children. ]
[ Given his separation from his sister, one might expect him to not be totally current with the details of her life - except that it's Byerly. He answers at once. ]
Three. All boys.
[ The faint wrinkle of his nose reveals what he thinks about that situation. What a nightmare. ]
Three. All boys.
[ The faint wrinkle of his nose reveals what he thinks about that situation. What a nightmare. ]
Three boys!
[ No nose wrinkle, on Bastien's end. Pure delight. Of course Nadine's husband might look like anything, might have the sort of strong blood that overrides anyone else's influence, all of that. But until he has information to the contrary, he'll be imagining them as three small Byerlys in different sizes, like nesting dolls. He's on the verge of tentatively imagining himself as an Uncle Bastien, too, but he has to pause first for, ]
I suppose she must have known about your Chantry Brothers. [ Shorthand for boys you kissed. ] And she didn't mind.
[ Not a question. With everything Byerly has said about her, her kindness and affection for him—then no matter what the rest of his family and the rest of Ferelden is like, it would be stupid for Bastien to worry about being an unwelcome surprise. But causing a problem between Byerly and his sister would be his personal nightmare. So he'd like to hear that he won't. If it's true. ]
[ No nose wrinkle, on Bastien's end. Pure delight. Of course Nadine's husband might look like anything, might have the sort of strong blood that overrides anyone else's influence, all of that. But until he has information to the contrary, he'll be imagining them as three small Byerlys in different sizes, like nesting dolls. He's on the verge of tentatively imagining himself as an Uncle Bastien, too, but he has to pause first for, ]
I suppose she must have known about your Chantry Brothers. [ Shorthand for boys you kissed. ] And she didn't mind.
[ Not a question. With everything Byerly has said about her, her kindness and affection for him—then no matter what the rest of his family and the rest of Ferelden is like, it would be stupid for Bastien to worry about being an unwelcome surprise. But causing a problem between Byerly and his sister would be his personal nightmare. So he'd like to hear that he won't. If it's true. ]
Of course she did not.
[ That's said with a faintly questioning tone; he does not, at first, fully understand why Bastien is talking about that. A testament either to Nadine's open and loving heart, or a testament to how natural being with Bastien feels to By - or, perhaps, a testament to how anxiety-inducing the other sources of uncertainty are - that it doesn't even occur to By to be afraid of judgment over something as lovely as his mustachioed paramour. ]
- Ah. I see. No. [ A little wryly: ] If anything, she preferred when I took up with lads. Just out of worry over the logistics of caring for a bastard. We didn't have the wealth to properly support an unanticipated Little Byerly.
[ That's said with a faintly questioning tone; he does not, at first, fully understand why Bastien is talking about that. A testament either to Nadine's open and loving heart, or a testament to how natural being with Bastien feels to By - or, perhaps, a testament to how anxiety-inducing the other sources of uncertainty are - that it doesn't even occur to By to be afraid of judgment over something as lovely as his mustachioed paramour. ]
- Ah. I see. No. [ A little wryly: ] If anything, she preferred when I took up with lads. Just out of worry over the logistics of caring for a bastard. We didn't have the wealth to properly support an unanticipated Little Byerly.
[ Without the work Byerly’s done on him—whether he realizes he has or not—Bastien might have found new causes for doubt. Dug for them. It’s not so uncommon for parents and spouses and perhaps siblings, too, to not mind this sort of thing as an outlet, but also consider it less real. It’d be easy to concoct a scenario where he was considered a prolonged dalliance and Byerly’s nephews, if he ever met them at all, would only ever know him as their uncle’s old friend. Easy to accept it as good enough, the same way he was ready to be Byerly’s beneficial friend and watch him love Alexandrie, or go to Denerim to live on separate streets, and be happy and call it optimism.
But By has done a great deal of repair and renforcement, so he doesn’t. He imagines the best. He mouths it to himself—Uncle Bastien. Not subtly. He isn’t going to make Byerly go on talking about it, when he’s anxious and nothing is certain, but Bastien wants him to know that he’s thrilled.
He marinates in it for a second, then tucks it away for later, for after Byerly hears something from Nadine, and looks a bit sly instead. ]
That was very responsible of her. You know, if you had a twenty-year-old child now—I bet they’d have a crush on Benedict.
But By has done a great deal of repair and renforcement, so he doesn’t. He imagines the best. He mouths it to himself—Uncle Bastien. Not subtly. He isn’t going to make Byerly go on talking about it, when he’s anxious and nothing is certain, but Bastien wants him to know that he’s thrilled.
He marinates in it for a second, then tucks it away for later, for after Byerly hears something from Nadine, and looks a bit sly instead. ]
That was very responsible of her. You know, if you had a twenty-year-old child now—I bet they’d have a crush on Benedict.
Nooo.
[ Byerly moans that like it's giving him physical agony. Perhaps it is. Benedict. Benedict. He hooks clawing fingers into Bastien's collar, and begs - ]
Don't say it. Absolutely not. A child of mine would have a crush on someone proper. Not someone so - gormless.
[ Byerly moans that like it's giving him physical agony. Perhaps it is. Benedict. Benedict. He hooks clawing fingers into Bastien's collar, and begs - ]
Don't say it. Absolutely not. A child of mine would have a crush on someone proper. Not someone so - gormless.
[ His own smile turns a little more subdued. ]
I suspect you knew that my candle was lit only for one person, back then.
[ Thank the Maker that the same situation had had a happier and more generous resolution here and now. Then, more easily: ]
I hope you're content with the fact that you've lost your last chance to make up for lost time. No matter what, I demand to be the only poor man in your bed. You may take rich men, but I alone may be your poor lover.
I suspect you knew that my candle was lit only for one person, back then.
[ Thank the Maker that the same situation had had a happier and more generous resolution here and now. Then, more easily: ]
I hope you're content with the fact that you've lost your last chance to make up for lost time. No matter what, I demand to be the only poor man in your bed. You may take rich men, but I alone may be your poor lover.
[ Bastien nudges Byerly with his knee, at the first part, like chin up. There are moments Bastien worries about it—not about the unalterable past, who cares about that, but about the future. About what will happen if something changes and Byerly can have everything he wants with Alexandrie after all. But they’re rarer and rarer and more and more illogical, those moments, and with By here and warm and looking at him, he can’t worry about it at all.
For the rest he sits up, so he can skritch his fingers beneath By’s chin, into the hair there, and grin. ]
If I can be your only commoner.
For the rest he sits up, so he can skritch his fingers beneath By’s chin, into the hair there, and grin. ]
If I can be your only commoner.
[ That compliment scratching just the right place on his soul and that nuzzle to just the right place on his neck, in combination, squeeze something suspiciously giggle-like out of his chest. ]
Mmhm. That is why I am the only dark-haired, mustachioed, incurably curious, Orlesian-speaking string musician and spy-turned-diplomat in all of Riftwatch.
Mmhm. That is why I am the only dark-haired, mustachioed, incurably curious, Orlesian-speaking string musician and spy-turned-diplomat in all of Riftwatch.
Edited (another) 2022-04-15 16:09 (UTC)
[ Bastien’s smile turns gentler, though no less pleased. ]
Then everyone is a hedonist. Not because everyone loves the way you do—some people are more pleased by other things. But a man who suffers to satisfy some hunger for meaning or glory is still choosing the route that makes his heart gladder. He wouldn’t do it otherwise.
And you are sweet and kind and soft because what makes you happy is for the people you love to be happy, and to keep the innocent from suffering, and to roll your dog’s ears up like cigarettes.
Then everyone is a hedonist. Not because everyone loves the way you do—some people are more pleased by other things. But a man who suffers to satisfy some hunger for meaning or glory is still choosing the route that makes his heart gladder. He wouldn’t do it otherwise.
And you are sweet and kind and soft because what makes you happy is for the people you love to be happy, and to keep the innocent from suffering, and to roll your dog’s ears up like cigarettes.
[ He squirms his leg. He could choose not to squirm, of course, and with nearly anyone else he would be choosing to squirm, to seem to be the sort of person who’s ticklish. But at the moment, with Byerly—an organic response, slipping through an opened door. ]
Obviously.
[ The pinching hand is caught and raised, for Bastien to examine By’s fine joints and long fingers and lovely nails. They’re the sort of hands wealthy Orlesians pay a lot of money for people with pumice stones and oils and tiny scissors to try to reproduce. And who could blame them? Gorgeous. ]
But if you ever do scratch me, I will know it is an accident, and it will be alright.
Obviously.
[ The pinching hand is caught and raised, for Bastien to examine By’s fine joints and long fingers and lovely nails. They’re the sort of hands wealthy Orlesians pay a lot of money for people with pumice stones and oils and tiny scissors to try to reproduce. And who could blame them? Gorgeous. ]
But if you ever do scratch me, I will know it is an accident, and it will be alright.
Ah.
[ Finally.
Though now that he's done it, ignoring the pull of good manners long enough to outlast him does not feel as triumphant as he'd hoped it would.
A pause. Very quietly, there's the metal slither of the ring and its chain coming out of his pocket. ]
Who is it you are safeguarding it for? You didn't say.
[ Finally.
Though now that he's done it, ignoring the pull of good manners long enough to outlast him does not feel as triumphant as he'd hoped it would.
A pause. Very quietly, there's the metal slither of the ring and its chain coming out of his pocket. ]
Who is it you are safeguarding it for? You didn't say.
That's a shame.
[ Sort of. He would sleep worse at night thinking there were a hundred more floating around Thedas. But a shame for either the Scouting division or for Ellis. He hasn't decided which yet. ]
Have you ever used it? It is a little small for your hands. For mine, too.
[ Sort of. He would sleep worse at night thinking there were a hundred more floating around Thedas. But a shame for either the Scouting division or for Ellis. He hasn't decided which yet. ]
Have you ever used it? It is a little small for your hands. For mine, too.
Ooh.
[ The sort of sound that might precede something flirty or challenging, except distant and subdued. He's not enjoying this. It's just an obligatory I'm not scared of you gesture. ]
Someone else might have appealed to my compassion, you know. Told me what is so much more important than the good it could do us. [ That's not an invitation. He knows Ellis won't, especially right now. He doesn't leave a pause to fill. ] I am in my office, if you want to come by.
[ The sort of sound that might precede something flirty or challenging, except distant and subdued. He's not enjoying this. It's just an obligatory I'm not scared of you gesture. ]
Someone else might have appealed to my compassion, you know. Told me what is so much more important than the good it could do us. [ That's not an invitation. He knows Ellis won't, especially right now. He doesn't leave a pause to fill. ] I am in my office, if you want to come by.
Gesture noted. Ellis understands what it means, takes it in stride.
And there is a pause in the wake of that. Not for Bastien to fill, but for Ellis to weigh up the wisdom of taking him up on this opened door. Consider the distant beat of temper, the simmering, sullen anger at his own past judgements.
But, eventually—
Ellis, alone, comes knocking on Bastien's office door.
And there is a pause in the wake of that. Not for Bastien to fill, but for Ellis to weigh up the wisdom of taking him up on this opened door. Consider the distant beat of temper, the simmering, sullen anger at his own past judgements.
But, eventually—
Ellis, alone, comes knocking on Bastien's office door.
“Entrez,” sung through the closed door, is bright and friendly. For the sake of passers by and those working in the adjacent division rooms, and for the slight chance it isn’t Ellis.
Inside, Bastien is on his feet beside his desk, comparing the quirks of handwriting on a page of symbolic code to a stack of Trade-language letters, one at a time. Some he discards quicker than others. During the transition from one handwriting comparison to the next, Bastien looks up at Ellis, and he smiles with one side of his mouth and none of the false cheer from entrez.
The ring is on the corner of his desk nearest to him, with its chain curled around it in a spiral.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “I keep bringing pastries to see if I can bribe anyone to help me with this—“ All of this, the office cluttered with signs of a spy’s unfinished tasks. “—and then eating them all myself.”
Inside, Bastien is on his feet beside his desk, comparing the quirks of handwriting on a page of symbolic code to a stack of Trade-language letters, one at a time. Some he discards quicker than others. During the transition from one handwriting comparison to the next, Bastien looks up at Ellis, and he smiles with one side of his mouth and none of the false cheer from entrez.
The ring is on the corner of his desk nearest to him, with its chain curled around it in a spiral.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “I keep bringing pastries to see if I can bribe anyone to help me with this—“ All of this, the office cluttered with signs of a spy’s unfinished tasks. “—and then eating them all myself.”
The position of the ring is noted.
But as to the offer—
“That’s kind, but no.”
It’s kind, but it feels like stalling. A diversion from their earlier conversation, which has not been ended, only minorly delayed.
The following look is expectant. Bastien asked him here for some reason. If it’s to simply hand over the ring, Ellis will be happy to take it and excuse himself. Otherwise, they may as well continue.
But as to the offer—
“That’s kind, but no.”
It’s kind, but it feels like stalling. A diversion from their earlier conversation, which has not been ended, only minorly delayed.
The following look is expectant. Bastien asked him here for some reason. If it’s to simply hand over the ring, Ellis will be happy to take it and excuse himself. Otherwise, they may as well continue.
Bastien sighs a little—at the thought of all of the food he's doomed to eat, of course—and pauses his work to turn fully toward Ellis, both hands still occupied with documents.
"Do you know what it does?"
The ring's position, stone facing away from Bastien, is as careful and deliberate as the evenly-spaced spiral of the chain. He slipped it midway down his pinky before Ellis came, to expunge any names already collected. He's plenty aware that that might not be enough to keep his own secret, if he gives it back.
If he'd decided for sure not to give it to Ellis before he came back, he could have just claimed to have dropped it in the sea, perhaps thrown it there intentionally as a private funeral when it seemed Ellis wouldn't return, very sorry about that.
Ah well.
"Do you know what it does?"
The ring's position, stone facing away from Bastien, is as careful and deliberate as the evenly-spaced spiral of the chain. He slipped it midway down his pinky before Ellis came, to expunge any names already collected. He's plenty aware that that might not be enough to keep his own secret, if he gives it back.
If he'd decided for sure not to give it to Ellis before he came back, he could have just claimed to have dropped it in the sea, perhaps thrown it there intentionally as a private funeral when it seemed Ellis wouldn't return, very sorry about that.
Ah well.
“Yes.”
More or less. Wysteria had explained. A small thing, a little bit of magic.
Ellis should have pried up stones in the courtyard to safeguard it.
But nothing else follows after the answer. Just steady expectation, anything else behind it flattened into nothingness. Bastien has a point. Ellis will give him due time to make it and nothing else, for the moment.
More or less. Wysteria had explained. A small thing, a little bit of magic.
Ellis should have pried up stones in the courtyard to safeguard it.
But nothing else follows after the answer. Just steady expectation, anything else behind it flattened into nothingness. Bastien has a point. Ellis will give him due time to make it and nothing else, for the moment.
Bastien's head tilts, his mostly-impassively pleasant expression tinging with disappointment. Ignorance would have been better.
"Then you knew how we could use it," he says. Knew and never mentioned, never offered. Bastien doesn't know of any Riftwatchers killed by liars they couldn't see coming, but as a liar people couldn't see coming, he knows that's luck. It might run out any mission now.
He turns back to his sorting.
"I suppose taking whatever you decide you need to win your war is only for Emperors and Grey Wardens, non?" His head and elbow dip toward the ring in a gesture that say go on then. "But Yseult might ask you to borrow it sometime. Don't be surprised."
"Then you knew how we could use it," he says. Knew and never mentioned, never offered. Bastien doesn't know of any Riftwatchers killed by liars they couldn't see coming, but as a liar people couldn't see coming, he knows that's luck. It might run out any mission now.
He turns back to his sorting.
"I suppose taking whatever you decide you need to win your war is only for Emperors and Grey Wardens, non?" His head and elbow dip toward the ring in a gesture that say go on then. "But Yseult might ask you to borrow it sometime. Don't be surprised."
Edited 2022-03-29 18:49 (UTC)
Did he?
(No. Ellis is not a spy, his recent six-month jaunt notwithstanding. It had never occurred to him that there might be a use beyond what he had said once to Wysteria: a ballroom, keeping the names of high society in order.)
But Bastien hadn't posed it as a question, and Ellis' reaction is limited solely to a minor furrow of his brows, there and gone without any accompanying clarification. The conclusion he's drawn is left as is. Just like the accompanying barb is taken in stride, registering without shifting the impassive expression on his face.
"It isn't something that can be given away," is very steady, unwavering as Ellis sweeps ring and chain into his palm.
(No. Ellis is not a spy, his recent six-month jaunt notwithstanding. It had never occurred to him that there might be a use beyond what he had said once to Wysteria: a ballroom, keeping the names of high society in order.)
But Bastien hadn't posed it as a question, and Ellis' reaction is limited solely to a minor furrow of his brows, there and gone without any accompanying clarification. The conclusion he's drawn is left as is. Just like the accompanying barb is taken in stride, registering without shifting the impassive expression on his face.
"It isn't something that can be given away," is very steady, unwavering as Ellis sweeps ring and chain into his palm.
“Sure,” Bastien says, with mild and uninterested agreeableness, the same way a hungry fellow might want to breeze past commentary on the taste of bread he can’t have. Ellis isn’t going to tell him why it matters. He is—or he was, before correcting Ellis’ impression of him today—good for holding and delivering things. Alright.
(Maybe he is digging up stones to patch the holes in his friend-repelling wall before Ellis goes off again. Maybe.)
Really, it’s a relief to have it done. The ring’s in Ellis’s hand. The rope from his internal tug-o-war lies slack. If the enchantment could help them or couldn’t, if Yseult is going to be cross, if that stone winds up pointing in a direction he’d rather it not, it’s out of his control now. Dealing with things is much easier than deciding them.
His attention goes back to his work, drawing one paper close to his nose to evaluate the penstroke of an O. “Bonne journée,” comes at a distracted delay, with a strained smile, but that’s not as bad a sign as a big fake one would have been.
(Maybe he is digging up stones to patch the holes in his friend-repelling wall before Ellis goes off again. Maybe.)
Really, it’s a relief to have it done. The ring’s in Ellis’s hand. The rope from his internal tug-o-war lies slack. If the enchantment could help them or couldn’t, if Yseult is going to be cross, if that stone winds up pointing in a direction he’d rather it not, it’s out of his control now. Dealing with things is much easier than deciding them.
His attention goes back to his work, drawing one paper close to his nose to evaluate the penstroke of an O. “Bonne journée,” comes at a distracted delay, with a strained smile, but that’s not as bad a sign as a big fake one would have been.
Ellis parses this for what it is too: a dismissal.
There is some other order of events where Bastien might have said something different, and Ellis might have given something up in the wake of it. Where he might have tread closer to the shape of a true thing, one Bastien has already skirted towards before.
But everything is harder now. (Being here is difficult, however Ellis makes it look otherwise.) And the flow of Bastien's response is a closed door. Ellis doesn't know how to pry at it. He doesn't know if he wants to.
It's been a long time since's it's been in his nature to press a point, to argue in his own defense rather than simply letting go of a thing.
So he settles on "Aye," as a rejoinder, turning on his heel to make for the door.
There is some other order of events where Bastien might have said something different, and Ellis might have given something up in the wake of it. Where he might have tread closer to the shape of a true thing, one Bastien has already skirted towards before.
But everything is harder now. (Being here is difficult, however Ellis makes it look otherwise.) And the flow of Bastien's response is a closed door. Ellis doesn't know how to pry at it. He doesn't know if he wants to.
It's been a long time since's it's been in his nature to press a point, to argue in his own defense rather than simply letting go of a thing.
So he settles on "Aye," as a rejoinder, turning on his heel to make for the door.
Bastien doesn’t watch him go. He examines the letter in his hands until he’s alone, and then he stares at a fixed spot on that letter. Ten seconds of nebulous bad feeling. What an asshole mixed with what’s wrong with me. I should apologize and he can fuck off in equal measure. What did Ellis expect. What did Bastien expect. A bit of wonder: the gulf between not really friends and really not friends feels unexpectedly wide.
He puts the letter down. The next one he lifts—Magota Batteux, what an unfortunate name—has the most promise of any so far. Matching loops and angles. Could be her. Look at those As against these triangles. And he’d turn traitor, too, if he’d grown up being called, inevitably, Maggot-a.
He will think more about Ellis later, probably, when he’s run out of things he has a better idea what to do about.
He puts the letter down. The next one he lifts—Magota Batteux, what an unfortunate name—has the most promise of any so far. Matching loops and angles. Could be her. Look at those As against these triangles. And he’d turn traitor, too, if he’d grown up being called, inevitably, Maggot-a.
He will think more about Ellis later, probably, when he’s run out of things he has a better idea what to do about.
[Sometime in off-hours, perhaps when Bastien can be caught in the dining area or the hallway, he is approached by a furtive-looking Benedict.]
Bastien? Do you... mind if I ask you something?
[He glances around, doing the worst job imaginable of hiding his wariness.]
In confidence.
Bastien? Do you... mind if I ask you something?
[He glances around, doing the worst job imaginable of hiding his wariness.]
In confidence.
[ Bastien glances around, too, smiling around the eyes like perhaps this is a game they are playing together, being sneaky—but only for a moment, out of reflexive playfulness. His face settles down into something more serious right away. ]
Of course.
[ He leaves his book open on the table and his spoon in his hand, but he scoots over on his dining hall bench in invitation for Benedict to sit. ]
Of course.
[ He leaves his book open on the table and his spoon in his hand, but he scoots over on his dining hall bench in invitation for Benedict to sit. ]
[Hunching forward to close the distance between them, Benedict rests his elbows on his knees, his hands fidgeting between them as he speaks in a low voice.]
Has-- do you know if something's been going on with Byerly?
Has-- do you know if something's been going on with Byerly?
I'm sure there is.
[ Said lightly; he's joking. ]
He's a complicated man. There are a dozen things going on with him at all times.
[ Joking, but not dismissive or uninterested. Over the course of those sentences a furrow has appeared between Bastien's eyebrows. ]
Is something wrong?
[ Said lightly; he's joking. ]
He's a complicated man. There are a dozen things going on with him at all times.
[ Joking, but not dismissive or uninterested. Over the course of those sentences a furrow has appeared between Bastien's eyebrows. ]
Is something wrong?
[Well, that tracks, but all the same,]
...no.
[Bastien not knowing has the same outcome as Bastien knowing and not letting on, and it seems foolish to show one's hand by being vulnerable all over him.
But at the same time, Bastien will certainly talk to Byerly, and there's no reason to make the latter think that Benedict can't be trusted and is trying to ferret out details about his personal life.]
He seems a bit more...
[he hesitates a long while, choosing his words careful,]
...reactive. Today.
...no.
[Bastien not knowing has the same outcome as Bastien knowing and not letting on, and it seems foolish to show one's hand by being vulnerable all over him.
But at the same time, Bastien will certainly talk to Byerly, and there's no reason to make the latter think that Benedict can't be trusted and is trying to ferret out details about his personal life.]
He seems a bit more...
[he hesitates a long while, choosing his words careful,]
...reactive. Today.
[ Benedict is speaking slowly enough that Bastien decides it's safe to have a spoonful of his soup, but then there are fewer words than he thought there would be, so he has to swallow it quickly. ]
You mean temperamental?
[ He says it very fondly. ]
Or only dramatic?
You mean temperamental?
[ He says it very fondly. ]
Or only dramatic?
[More inclined to pick at me over small things, is what he wants to say, but,]
temperamental. Sure. Irritable.
temperamental. Sure. Irritable.
[ Bastien hums.
None of them are sleeping as well as they'd like. There's that. There's the preparation for the visit to Antiva—a diplomatic visit, falling more squarely on By's shoulders than their various battles and jungle hikes. The general existence of Loki. The fact that in the midst of all of this, as far as Bastien knows, he's been trying very hard not to drink so much, or perhaps at all.
Gross romantic plans begin hatching. (Benedict will be spared knowing anything about them. He's welcome.) ]
I suppose you have already tried asking him?
None of them are sleeping as well as they'd like. There's that. There's the preparation for the visit to Antiva—a diplomatic visit, falling more squarely on By's shoulders than their various battles and jungle hikes. The general existence of Loki. The fact that in the midst of all of this, as far as Bastien knows, he's been trying very hard not to drink so much, or perhaps at all.
Gross romantic plans begin hatching. (Benedict will be spared knowing anything about them. He's welcome.) ]
I suppose you have already tried asking him?
[A weak, ironic laugh, then:]
are you joking?
are you joking?
Euh... no?
[ The befuddlement isn't entirely genuine. He knows Byerly has a soft spot for him that's even softer than his typical soft spots, and Bastien could get away with more fussing and prying than Benedict could ever dream to.
But still. ]
I don't mean bursting in on him like, [ in a poor approximation of Benedict's accent, ] What the fuck is wrong with you, Rutyer—
Though, you know, the cursing part might be good.
[ The befuddlement isn't entirely genuine. He knows Byerly has a soft spot for him that's even softer than his typical soft spots, and Bastien could get away with more fussing and prying than Benedict could ever dream to.
But still. ]
I don't mean bursting in on him like, [ in a poor approximation of Benedict's accent, ] What the fuck is wrong with you, Rutyer—
Though, you know, the cursing part might be good.
[The fact that Benedict smiles is a testament to Bastien’s wit, but the impression doesn’t entirely dispel his nerves.]
I don’t know. I, ahh… doubt it would go over well, with or without the cursing.
[He’s rethinking the decision to discuss it.]
But… it’s all right. Never mind.
I don’t know. I, ahh… doubt it would go over well, with or without the cursing.
[He’s rethinking the decision to discuss it.]
But… it’s all right. Never mind.
No, it's just,
[telling Bastien what happened opens himself up to more of it later, if it should get out that he brought it up at all.
He knows Byerly isn't a monster, at least when Byerly isn't actively trying to be a monster, which... to be fair, he does sometimes.]
It can be a bit, um... confusing, sometimes. To know what he wants.
[He smirks uneasily.] I'll think I know, and then I'll be completely wrong.
[telling Bastien what happened opens himself up to more of it later, if it should get out that he brought it up at all.
He knows Byerly isn't a monster, at least when Byerly isn't actively trying to be a monster, which... to be fair, he does sometimes.]
It can be a bit, um... confusing, sometimes. To know what he wants.
[He smirks uneasily.] I'll think I know, and then I'll be completely wrong.
[ Bastien frowns a little, sympathetic but—well. It’s not a problem he’s ever had himself, even before they were so close. He’s easygoing and unflappable, he takes everything By says in good faith and understands his jokes, and he rather likes a streak of moodiness in a man.
So it’s a bit difficult to try to figure out a source other than ambient stress or a solution other than deal with it, based on these vague summaries. But if Benedict only wanted to complain and have someone tell him he’s right, what a capricious monster, he wouldn’t have picked Bastien to talk to, surely. ]
What is it you thought he wanted?
So it’s a bit difficult to try to figure out a source other than ambient stress or a solution other than deal with it, based on these vague summaries. But if Benedict only wanted to complain and have someone tell him he’s right, what a capricious monster, he wouldn’t have picked Bastien to talk to, surely. ]
What is it you thought he wanted?
I...
[He has to either say it or not, and that's taking a leap of faith that this won't come back to bite him in the arse tomorrow. But if he backs off now, it'll look even more like he's just stirring the pot, and that could be even worse.]
...I've been careful not to remind him unduly that I'm a mage. It seems to upset him. And. Well. Others. [No need to rehash that whole situation,]
But the other day, he got on me about not being a better mage. He'd sort of... reversed his opinion, to catch me on the other side of the correction.
And that was it, really, but that he had to catch me on it, he couldn't just say what he meant. So I'll go through a whole conversation thinking I'm giving him what he wants, and it turns out it's the opposite. And he's just trying to trip me up.
[He folds his hands anxiously, looking anywhere but at Bastien, who currently holds the power of the universe.]
...he only really does it when he's upset about something else, I think. The subject itself doesn't really matter. ...I should get better at magic.
[He has to either say it or not, and that's taking a leap of faith that this won't come back to bite him in the arse tomorrow. But if he backs off now, it'll look even more like he's just stirring the pot, and that could be even worse.]
...I've been careful not to remind him unduly that I'm a mage. It seems to upset him. And. Well. Others. [No need to rehash that whole situation,]
But the other day, he got on me about not being a better mage. He'd sort of... reversed his opinion, to catch me on the other side of the correction.
And that was it, really, but that he had to catch me on it, he couldn't just say what he meant. So I'll go through a whole conversation thinking I'm giving him what he wants, and it turns out it's the opposite. And he's just trying to trip me up.
[He folds his hands anxiously, looking anywhere but at Bastien, who currently holds the power of the universe.]
...he only really does it when he's upset about something else, I think. The subject itself doesn't really matter. ...I should get better at magic.
[ Bastien glances at Benedict's hands, his averted gaze. A Tevinter mage trying to downplay it to avoid bothering anyone—that's odd. Benedict's eagerness to please, that thinking I'm giving him what he wants—that's sad. Did they do it to him, with the dungeon stay? Is he still afraid of something worse? Or did he bring it with him from home?
And two lanky neurotic (thought most lovingly) quasi-hedonists in one office, both apparently incapable of just speaking straight with one another—that's disastrous, probably.
He picks up his spoon again, but only to fidget with, not to eat, and mainly to soften the force of his attentive focus, which can be a bit much for people who don't particularly want to be seen. ]
Do you suppose he could be worried about you?
And two lanky neurotic (thought most lovingly) quasi-hedonists in one office, both apparently incapable of just speaking straight with one another—that's disastrous, probably.
He picks up his spoon again, but only to fidget with, not to eat, and mainly to soften the force of his attentive focus, which can be a bit much for people who don't particularly want to be seen. ]
Do you suppose he could be worried about you?
It's possible.
[Benedict's glance flits up to Bastien, a bit of a sheepish smile reaching his eyes before it dwindles again,]
...not unprecedented. I'm a bit worried about him, but at least he requested protection for the mission. I suppose he just. Didn't like that I also did.
[Benedict's glance flits up to Bastien, a bit of a sheepish smile reaching his eyes before it dwindles again,]
...not unprecedented. I'm a bit worried about him, but at least he requested protection for the mission. I suppose he just. Didn't like that I also did.
[ Bastien wobbles his head in silent equivocation. Maybe Byerly has told him at some point that Benedict knows he's a spy, but even if not, Bastien knows they were together in Val Chevin, while Byerly picked off Vints with a crossbow from the deck of their doomed ship. Benedict must know he's not a fraction as helpless as he playacts. ]
I'm certain it's more than he doesn't like the idea of you needing it, [ for any number of reasons, ] not that he doesn't want you to have it if you do.
[ After a moment, thoughtfully: ]
I don't know if it has anything to do with it, but it is hard for us, sometimes, you know. Magic. It's scary. It's weird. And it doesn't always seem fair. You are not the only dangerous people in the world, of course, but I worked for years to be dangerous— [ With a smile; he's a little chubby around the middle, he's eating soup, it's funny. ] —but any fifteen-year-old mage could still set me on fire without having to sweat.
I'm certain it's more than he doesn't like the idea of you needing it, [ for any number of reasons, ] not that he doesn't want you to have it if you do.
[ After a moment, thoughtfully: ]
I don't know if it has anything to do with it, but it is hard for us, sometimes, you know. Magic. It's scary. It's weird. And it doesn't always seem fair. You are not the only dangerous people in the world, of course, but I worked for years to be dangerous— [ With a smile; he's a little chubby around the middle, he's eating soup, it's funny. ] —but any fifteen-year-old mage could still set me on fire without having to sweat.
[Though not irritated by Bastien's qualification of his opinion, it does seem to make Benedict tired, his eyes dropping toward the floor once again as he hears it.]
I won't deny that mages are dangerous, [he says in a low voice,] I learned from some of the best. I was... well I was dosed with magebane for a reason, at least the first time I was below.
[He purses his lips, pausing a moment before continuing.]
But I was... I fought with Riftwatch in the Battle of Ghislain. I was in a whole crowd of mages casting at the enemy, and I still got a sword through the gut. The timing was bad, it happened at the moment my barrier failed.
[He taps his fingers together between his knees.]
I've had trouble trusting barriers since then. I know I can make them, I know all the things I should be able to do, but I'm just.
[He sighs grimly through his nose.]
Scared. ..often.
I won't deny that mages are dangerous, [he says in a low voice,] I learned from some of the best. I was... well I was dosed with magebane for a reason, at least the first time I was below.
[He purses his lips, pausing a moment before continuing.]
But I was... I fought with Riftwatch in the Battle of Ghislain. I was in a whole crowd of mages casting at the enemy, and I still got a sword through the gut. The timing was bad, it happened at the moment my barrier failed.
[He taps his fingers together between his knees.]
I've had trouble trusting barriers since then. I know I can make them, I know all the things I should be able to do, but I'm just.
[He sighs grimly through his nose.]
Scared. ..often.
[ Of course there is the urge to say, Imagine how those of us with no barriers at all feel. But it’s a weak urge. At the end of the day, mages—like royalty, like the rich—are only people, not imbued with any special wisdom or strength of character to match their power. ]
Do you practice?
[ In his experience, doing a thing over and over, while a peer tries to trip him, while a bardmaster is waiting in the wings to judge him if he slips, while his fingers are left broken so he has to work through it, while an instructor has leave to slightly stab him if he needs it to learn the lesson, it’s fine, Thomin will heal it—
That makes a thing easier to do in the moment it’s needed, scary or not.
He won’t bore Benedict with his personal life, but he does say, sounding intentionally like he’s quoting someone stuffy and stern, ]
Practice makes instinct.
Do you practice?
[ In his experience, doing a thing over and over, while a peer tries to trip him, while a bardmaster is waiting in the wings to judge him if he slips, while his fingers are left broken so he has to work through it, while an instructor has leave to slightly stab him if he needs it to learn the lesson, it’s fine, Thomin will heal it—
That makes a thing easier to do in the moment it’s needed, scary or not.
He won’t bore Benedict with his personal life, but he does say, sounding intentionally like he’s quoting someone stuffy and stern, ]
Practice makes instinct.
Sometimes.
[His shoulders hunch.]
I don't know how comfortable most of Riftwatch's leadership is with my using magic. Especially aggressive magic. I don't want to misstep again.
[He pushes his hair back out of his face, thinking.]
...which is why it surprised me that Byerly seemed to want me to. And I will, I just need to do it with people who won't. ...mind. I suppose.
[It was a lesson hard-learned, that cooperation and acknowledging the needs of others is necessary for anyone's success. The struggle now is to determine where to make room for self-determination.]
[His shoulders hunch.]
I don't know how comfortable most of Riftwatch's leadership is with my using magic. Especially aggressive magic. I don't want to misstep again.
[He pushes his hair back out of his face, thinking.]
...which is why it surprised me that Byerly seemed to want me to. And I will, I just need to do it with people who won't. ...mind. I suppose.
[It was a lesson hard-learned, that cooperation and acknowledging the needs of others is necessary for anyone's success. The struggle now is to determine where to make room for self-determination.]
[ Bastien laughs a little at the understatement, which he can only assume was intentionally funny. ]
That is a good rule, ouais. But—look, there is no magebane now, is there? It is like you came in with a sword. They took it away. Now they have given it back. They wouldn’t have done that if they expected you to never use it.
That is a good rule, ouais. But—look, there is no magebane now, is there? It is like you came in with a sword. They took it away. Now they have given it back. They wouldn’t have done that if they expected you to never use it.
[It wasn't, but Bene smiles a little anyway, disarmed by Bastien's easy nature. He nods.]
When you put it that way, it makes sense. [The corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk, though it falls back after a moment.]
...sorry, I didn't mean to dump all my problems on you. But. Thank you, all the same.
When you put it that way, it makes sense. [The corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk, though it falls back after a moment.]
...sorry, I didn't mean to dump all my problems on you. But. Thank you, all the same.
If that was all of your problems, you are doing very well.
[ And in case the joke doesn’t make it obvious: ]
I don’t mind. Thank you for—you know. Wondering whether he might be dealing with something. [ Most people are always so eager to assume everything is personal and purposeful. ] I’ll look into it.
[ And in case the joke doesn’t make it obvious: ]
I don’t mind. Thank you for—you know. Wondering whether he might be dealing with something. [ Most people are always so eager to assume everything is personal and purposeful. ] I’ll look into it.
[Finally, a proper smile manifests. He nods.]
Maybe just... don't mention that I brought it up, if that's all right. Don't want him to think I'm conspiring.
[It's only half a joke. But Bastien has always been kind to him, even when almost nobody else was.]
He's lucky to have you in his corner.
Maybe just... don't mention that I brought it up, if that's all right. Don't want him to think I'm conspiring.
[It's only half a joke. But Bastien has always been kind to him, even when almost nobody else was.]
He's lucky to have you in his corner.
[ Bastien touches his empty hand to his chest, aw shucks, but— ]
I don’t lie to him.
[ Maybe that’s a stupid thing to tell Benedict, or anyone at all, when keeping it to himself might make it easier to collect secrets and catch anyone who does want to conspire.
But he likes the kid. Young man. Man. Whatever he is. ]
We have enough of that in our lives, you know? But, [ the best compromise he can offer, ] if it doesn’t come up, it doesn’t come up.
I don’t lie to him.
[ Maybe that’s a stupid thing to tell Benedict, or anyone at all, when keeping it to himself might make it easier to collect secrets and catch anyone who does want to conspire.
But he likes the kid. Young man. Man. Whatever he is. ]
We have enough of that in our lives, you know? But, [ the best compromise he can offer, ] if it doesn’t come up, it doesn’t come up.
[Though he's briefly concerned, Benedict sighs it out and nods. He can, at least, probably trust that Bastien isn't going to stir the pot on purpose.
Not without good reason, anyway.]
Not without good reason, anyway.]
Apologies if,
[is it gauche to assume he offended someone?]
...if I missed the mark. I assumed we were playing.
[is it gauche to assume he offended someone?]
...if I missed the mark. I assumed we were playing.
Edited 2022-04-20 04:35 (UTC)
Oh! We were.
[ Were they? Maybe it ruffled his feathers a little, maybe Benedict had the misfortune of chiming in after Bastien had already used up so much of his resistance to taking things personally on not caring that Wysteria called him old—
But it’s fine now. It’s been like three whole minutes. He’s over it. ]
Sweet of you to apologize, though.
[ Were they? Maybe it ruffled his feathers a little, maybe Benedict had the misfortune of chiming in after Bastien had already used up so much of his resistance to taking things personally on not caring that Wysteria called him old—
But it’s fine now. It’s been like three whole minutes. He’s over it. ]
Sweet of you to apologize, though.
Just. Making sure.
[Weird how being around non-monstrous people for a while makes one care what they think, how they feel.]
...it was really for Byerly anyway. [Said with a dry fondness; he doesn't want to actually hurt him, either.]
[Weird how being around non-monstrous people for a while makes one care what they think, how they feel.]
...it was really for Byerly anyway. [Said with a dry fondness; he doesn't want to actually hurt him, either.]
[ Bastien laughs. ]
I would fight you on his behalf, but anyone who does not realize how handsome he is is clearly touched in the head. So I can only pity you. A life without appreciating true beauty... Bleak.
—but my mustache is better than his, right? If you had to pick a mustache to like.
I would fight you on his behalf, but anyone who does not realize how handsome he is is clearly touched in the head. So I can only pity you. A life without appreciating true beauty... Bleak.
—but my mustache is better than his, right? If you had to pick a mustache to like.
[Dodging the question is the only way to answer.]
It's more robust, [Benedict offers. His smirk is audible.] It's committed to being a mustache.
It's more robust, [Benedict offers. His smirk is audible.] It's committed to being a mustache.
[ It’s a few days after their last talk of family, of all of Bastien’s siblings, that Byerly comes to Bastien with a letter in his hand. It is, when By holds it out to Bastien, addressed simply to Byerly Rutyer - because, while a finely-educated lady would know that even her brother should be addressed as Ambassador in this sort of correspondence, Nadine wasn’t raised finely. She wasn’t given a true lady’s education. It shows in her hand, too: it’s a little uneven, a little wobbly, not the fine calligraphy of a high lady (or a high lady’s scribe).
By’s face is subdued when he presents the letter. But he doesn’t look unhappy. It seems, rather, more like he’s waiting to react until Bastien has confirmed the information contained within. ]
By’s face is subdued when he presents the letter. But he doesn’t look unhappy. It seems, rather, more like he’s waiting to react until Bastien has confirmed the information contained within. ]
[ He has caught Bastien in the back room of the Jeshavis office, where there's a table for the project's never-held meetings and cabinets for the files and supplies. His desk has been overtaken by one avenue of effort; the conference table is being overtaken by several others, so Bastien roves between chairs as he roves between tasks. In this chair he's not so much sitting as standing beside it, with one knee bent and resting in the seat.
At the sight of Byerly and his reserved expression, his face moves swiftly from smile to quiet curiosity. A request from Lord Loys Brassard for information about the Antivans' plans is set aside in favor of Byerly's letter. Bastien reads the first sentence, enough to know it's personal, and skips to the valediction to confirm the sender. The name makes him stand up from his chair entirely. Half excitement, half the need to wrap his arm around By's waist and hitch him in close while he goes back to read the middle. ]
At the sight of Byerly and his reserved expression, his face moves swiftly from smile to quiet curiosity. A request from Lord Loys Brassard for information about the Antivans' plans is set aside in favor of Byerly's letter. Bastien reads the first sentence, enough to know it's personal, and skips to the valediction to confirm the sender. The name makes him stand up from his chair entirely. Half excitement, half the need to wrap his arm around By's waist and hitch him in close while he goes back to read the middle. ]
[ There's a stiffness to it, to be sure. In Byerly's best dreams about how this would go, he'd envisioned an almost impossible generosity - an enthusiastic, joyous flood of words, as if not a day had passed between then and now, as if she were still the sweetly loving girl she had been. It's certainly not that. But nor is it the cold rebuff he'd feared. Instead, it's - ]
My dearest brother,
I was very pleased to receive a letter from you. I was even more pleased to hear that you are doing so well. I am not surprised to hear that the Riftwatch admires you so much. I am sure you serve in this war both loyally and bravely. I am also glad to hear that you have such excellent companions who treat you well. I hope that you shall tell me much more of them and how you met one another.
I fear that there is no such excitement here. Or perhaps I am pleased to report as such. The war reaches here only in small ways. We have little sugar due to a lack of trade. As Elia's name-day was last month, and she was forced to have a tart made with treacle instead of sugar, the household is in some great disorder.
[ She talks a bit more here about her family. About her daughter, Elia, and her son, John. Her husband, a merchant named Thomas, who trades primarily in fabrics - linens and wools, good practical things. She talks about the garden she's sowing. It's all very surface-level, reporting rather than sharing. Rather akin to what would tell a very distant relation. But it's written warmly enough.
Finally, she concludes: ]
But perhaps you already know much of this. Gossip seems to flow northwards far more easily than it flows south. I pray you will respond with more - I should like to hear of your adventures.
Your sister,
Nadine.
My dearest brother,
I was very pleased to receive a letter from you. I was even more pleased to hear that you are doing so well. I am not surprised to hear that the Riftwatch admires you so much. I am sure you serve in this war both loyally and bravely. I am also glad to hear that you have such excellent companions who treat you well. I hope that you shall tell me much more of them and how you met one another.
I fear that there is no such excitement here. Or perhaps I am pleased to report as such. The war reaches here only in small ways. We have little sugar due to a lack of trade. As Elia's name-day was last month, and she was forced to have a tart made with treacle instead of sugar, the household is in some great disorder.
[ She talks a bit more here about her family. About her daughter, Elia, and her son, John. Her husband, a merchant named Thomas, who trades primarily in fabrics - linens and wools, good practical things. She talks about the garden she's sowing. It's all very surface-level, reporting rather than sharing. Rather akin to what would tell a very distant relation. But it's written warmly enough.
Finally, she concludes: ]
But perhaps you already know much of this. Gossip seems to flow northwards far more easily than it flows south. I pray you will respond with more - I should like to hear of your adventures.
Your sister,
Nadine.
[ Bastien takes his time. At the mention of treacle, the household is in some great disorder, his head drifts sideways to nudge against Byerly's arm and remains there, while his smile stretches wider with each sentence. Reserved, but warm. Not unlike the carefully restrained hope on By's face.
With only Byerly's comments on her and Byerly himself to build Nadine out of, he imagines this the last of several drafts, the words that remained after others were agonized over and discarded. Gone, a phrase that sounded too much like it blamed him for taking so long. Gone, a sentence that was too silly, because she is writing to an ambassador she can no longer claim to know well. Gone, a paragraph that was too hungry and enthusiastic, because she has something of Byerly in her. A little part that is afraid of hoping for too much until it is forced into her hands and she has been reassured thrice over that it won't be taken away. A little part that likewise senses fear in others and takes care not to move too quickly, the same way By has always been so patient in waiting for Bastien. Perhaps a little part that does feel abandoned or forgotten and hesitant to trust again—but with the door left open, if he'll come find her.
Perhaps Bastien is entirely off the mark. He looks forward to learning enough to know for certain, eventually. For now, as he finishes the last lines, all his relief and happiness bubbles up out of his chest and emerges as, ]
Byerly.
[ He is careful not to crease the letter as he pulls Byerly around, arm around his waist joined by a hand on his shoulder to drag him along in a quick, spinny, peasanty dance. He will be unreservedly overjoyed enough for all of them together. ]
Her dearest brother!
With only Byerly's comments on her and Byerly himself to build Nadine out of, he imagines this the last of several drafts, the words that remained after others were agonized over and discarded. Gone, a phrase that sounded too much like it blamed him for taking so long. Gone, a sentence that was too silly, because she is writing to an ambassador she can no longer claim to know well. Gone, a paragraph that was too hungry and enthusiastic, because she has something of Byerly in her. A little part that is afraid of hoping for too much until it is forced into her hands and she has been reassured thrice over that it won't be taken away. A little part that likewise senses fear in others and takes care not to move too quickly, the same way By has always been so patient in waiting for Bastien. Perhaps a little part that does feel abandoned or forgotten and hesitant to trust again—but with the door left open, if he'll come find her.
Perhaps Bastien is entirely off the mark. He looks forward to learning enough to know for certain, eventually. For now, as he finishes the last lines, all his relief and happiness bubbles up out of his chest and emerges as, ]
Byerly.
[ He is careful not to crease the letter as he pulls Byerly around, arm around his waist joined by a hand on his shoulder to drag him along in a quick, spinny, peasanty dance. He will be unreservedly overjoyed enough for all of them together. ]
Her dearest brother!
Edited (words) 2022-05-30 02:05 (UTC)
It's good?
[ Is a question. A question coming, perhaps absurdly, from Byerly, who can read intention or resistance or susceptibility in a penstroke when the letter is a diplomatic missive. In this - In this, he needs to stoop his head slightly and look Bastien in the eyes, anxious for some reassurance, even after that little peasanty dance has been concluded.
(An absurd request. Would Bastien be dancing if he didn't think it was good? But he needs those words.) ]
She doesn't seem - displeased by the idea. I feel as though - [ He gives a small motion of his head. ] You don't suppose she was just writing because she wanted sugar, was she?
[ Is a question. A question coming, perhaps absurdly, from Byerly, who can read intention or resistance or susceptibility in a penstroke when the letter is a diplomatic missive. In this - In this, he needs to stoop his head slightly and look Bastien in the eyes, anxious for some reassurance, even after that little peasanty dance has been concluded.
(An absurd request. Would Bastien be dancing if he didn't think it was good? But he needs those words.) ]
She doesn't seem - displeased by the idea. I feel as though - [ He gives a small motion of his head. ] You don't suppose she was just writing because she wanted sugar, was she?
[ Bastien lifts his chin to look back up at Byerly. ]
No. No, of course not.
[ Still oozing joy, but he can do it with less spinning: he moves his arms up, letter-holding hand draped over Byerly's shoulder, other hand on his beloved face, and beams at him. ]
It's good. It's great. She wrote to you! She wants you to write again. Look at everything she has given you to begin—her children. [ Byerly can't look; the letter is currently being held against his back, where Bastien's hand is dangling. But metaphorically. ] She could have kept them to a sentence at most if she wanted to keep you shut out of her family.
[ He lifts onto his toes to kiss By twice, once on each cheek. ]
Don't send her sugar.
No. No, of course not.
[ Still oozing joy, but he can do it with less spinning: he moves his arms up, letter-holding hand draped over Byerly's shoulder, other hand on his beloved face, and beams at him. ]
It's good. It's great. She wrote to you! She wants you to write again. Look at everything she has given you to begin—her children. [ Byerly can't look; the letter is currently being held against his back, where Bastien's hand is dangling. But metaphorically. ] She could have kept them to a sentence at most if she wanted to keep you shut out of her family.
[ He lifts onto his toes to kiss By twice, once on each cheek. ]
Don't send her sugar.
I'm sure I could find someone -
[ But that's foolish. She doesn't want sugar. She wants to complain. Just the way that, back when they were children, she'd talk and talk about her schoolmate - oh, what was the girl's name - Anya, maybe? - and Byerly would offer suggestions for smoothing things over with Anya and Nadine would sigh irritably and it wasn't until years later that he figured out that she didn't want solutions. She wanted to be irritated and hear him listen.
This is like that. Right? She doesn't want something; she just wants her brother to listen.
Her brother.
He finds, suddenly, that his eyes are wet. He stoops all at once to bury his face against Bastien's shoulder. It's not until his breath hitches in a sob that he really realizes how...how much it all was, how intense the fear was in him. Like how you don't know how taut a muscle was till you unclench it.
It's not a full weep. It's a light one, just a few little hiccups before he gets control of himself again. But - oh, it's such a relief. ]
Yeah. I'll write again. It'll be good.
[ But that's foolish. She doesn't want sugar. She wants to complain. Just the way that, back when they were children, she'd talk and talk about her schoolmate - oh, what was the girl's name - Anya, maybe? - and Byerly would offer suggestions for smoothing things over with Anya and Nadine would sigh irritably and it wasn't until years later that he figured out that she didn't want solutions. She wanted to be irritated and hear him listen.
This is like that. Right? She doesn't want something; she just wants her brother to listen.
Her brother.
He finds, suddenly, that his eyes are wet. He stoops all at once to bury his face against Bastien's shoulder. It's not until his breath hitches in a sob that he really realizes how...how much it all was, how intense the fear was in him. Like how you don't know how taut a muscle was till you unclench it.
It's not a full weep. It's a light one, just a few little hiccups before he gets control of himself again. But - oh, it's such a relief. ]
Yeah. I'll write again. It'll be good.
[ All of his jokes about wanting to be taller aside, Bastien is usually fine with his height. Right now, however, he would trade a whole finger (off his bow hand, at least) to be tall enough to fold By into his chest and be sturdy and comfortable to cry on.
But he does his best with what he has. Stays on his toes, keeps one arm wrapped around By's shoulder, kisses his ear, lightly scratches the hair on the nape of his neck. ]
It will be.
[ His enthusiasm has not waned, but in the face of the hiccuping, it's taken on a more subdued form. He alternates lowering his heels to rock on his feet, side to side—still a bit of dancing, but maybe more soothing in this form. ]
I'm so glad for you, my love. And what timing. I was five days away from meddling.
But he does his best with what he has. Stays on his toes, keeps one arm wrapped around By's shoulder, kisses his ear, lightly scratches the hair on the nape of his neck. ]
It will be.
[ His enthusiasm has not waned, but in the face of the hiccuping, it's taken on a more subdued form. He alternates lowering his heels to rock on his feet, side to side—still a bit of dancing, but maybe more soothing in this form. ]
I'm so glad for you, my love. And what timing. I was five days away from meddling.
Meddling?
[ Curiosity - clean, clear, focused - cuts through the muddle of feeling. By raises his head off of Bastien's shoulder to look him in the face. Few besides Bastien would be able to get a look at Byerly when he's in this state: eyes still reddened, nose a little pinked from the emotional display, face unguarded. (And only one aside from Bastien might ever see Byerly like this when he's sober.)
His lip tucks up to the side, a hesitant, earnest little smile. ]
How would you have meddled?
[ Curiosity - clean, clear, focused - cuts through the muddle of feeling. By raises his head off of Bastien's shoulder to look him in the face. Few besides Bastien would be able to get a look at Byerly when he's in this state: eyes still reddened, nose a little pinked from the emotional display, face unguarded. (And only one aside from Bastien might ever see Byerly like this when he's sober.)
His lip tucks up to the side, a hesitant, earnest little smile. ]
How would you have meddled?
[ It's a sight that makes Bastien's heart swell—literally, he's pretty sure. He can feel it. And they were good tears, relieved tears, so there's no sorrow in the swelling. Just love for his face, the precious contrast of aristocratic features and open sweetness, and purring satisfaction at being allowed to see him so clearly. ]
I was going to write to her.
[ A kiss to Byerly's pink nose, and Bastien lets his feet flatten. ]
Once to let her know you'd written and it might have been lost along the way, and if that didn't work, a second time to tell her we'd both written and they both might have been lost, and then—three letters being lost would not be a coincidence. It would be the Venatori interfering. Trying to break our beloved Ambassador's spirit. So then I would go to Gwaren in person and deliver one myself.
I was going to write to her.
[ A kiss to Byerly's pink nose, and Bastien lets his feet flatten. ]
Once to let her know you'd written and it might have been lost along the way, and if that didn't work, a second time to tell her we'd both written and they both might have been lost, and then—three letters being lost would not be a coincidence. It would be the Venatori interfering. Trying to break our beloved Ambassador's spirit. So then I would go to Gwaren in person and deliver one myself.
Si c'est ce qu'il faut.
[ Primly, very Orlesian, joking but not joking—and then more serious, with a hand up and a thumb on By’s cheekbone. ]
Anything for you.
[ Not something he’s said to By before. A line he drew, after Vincent—after he looked up from his years of infatuation and found himself with nothing to show for it but bloody hands. He didn’t think he’d ever offer anyone that again. He only is now, half teasing, because he’s so entirely certain that doing anything for Byerly means doing only good things, right ones, and not losing himself and his own dreams in the bargain. ]
Now you have to choose an adventure to tell her about. Something relatable—if you begin with the Herald’s spirit sending us prophetic dreams, she may think you have nothing in common anymore.
[ Primly, very Orlesian, joking but not joking—and then more serious, with a hand up and a thumb on By’s cheekbone. ]
Anything for you.
[ Not something he’s said to By before. A line he drew, after Vincent—after he looked up from his years of infatuation and found himself with nothing to show for it but bloody hands. He didn’t think he’d ever offer anyone that again. He only is now, half teasing, because he’s so entirely certain that doing anything for Byerly means doing only good things, right ones, and not losing himself and his own dreams in the bargain. ]
Now you have to choose an adventure to tell her about. Something relatable—if you begin with the Herald’s spirit sending us prophetic dreams, she may think you have nothing in common anymore.
Hah.
[ Something relatable. Something light. Nothing of his heartbreak, of his struggles, of his doubts. Nothing that would make her fear for his life - rather, something dashing but steadying. Odd as he realizes how much there is to choose from. ]
Did you ever think you’d end up like this?
[ The question is wry. ]
I was such an ordinary boy with such an ordinary life.
[ The two of them had been so ordinary together. ]
[ Something relatable. Something light. Nothing of his heartbreak, of his struggles, of his doubts. Nothing that would make her fear for his life - rather, something dashing but steadying. Odd as he realizes how much there is to choose from. ]
Did you ever think you’d end up like this?
[ The question is wry. ]
I was such an ordinary boy with such an ordinary life.
[ The two of them had been so ordinary together. ]
I hoped I would. [ Hungry, overlooked, refusing to clean boots for a living, clinging to a book of adventure stories. ] And I don't think you were ever ordinary.
[ He looks at Byerly's letter from Nadine again, quietly beaming with delight that it exists, before carefully folding it for him. ]
What did you want your life to become, when you were little?
[ He looks at Byerly's letter from Nadine again, quietly beaming with delight that it exists, before carefully folding it for him. ]
What did you want your life to become, when you were little?
[ He takes the letter with careful fingertips, pinching the creases delicately. He smiles down at it with an expression that's as wondering as it is fond. And then he turns the same expression up at Bastien, because - He'd never have had the courage for this without him. Without his pressing, without his love. He leans in and kisses him, then, lightly, without commentary; then he pulls back and considers the question. ]
I didn't really think about it.
[ Something almost embarrassing to admit to Bastien, who might well be someone nourished on dreams. His beloved might be able to forgo food, drink, and sleep, if he has ambitions to sustain him. ]
There was only one path open to me, really. Inherit the estate. Become its administrator. So there wasn't any point in imagining something different.
I didn't really think about it.
[ Something almost embarrassing to admit to Bastien, who might well be someone nourished on dreams. His beloved might be able to forgo food, drink, and sleep, if he has ambitions to sustain him. ]
There was only one path open to me, really. Inherit the estate. Become its administrator. So there wasn't any point in imagining something different.
[ Bastien smiles. ]
Maybe that wouldn't have been so bad.
[ He closes an open book on the table—not that it makes much difference in the lightly organized chaos of the room—and slides his hand into Byerly's to pull him along through the door. This avenue of conversation has reinvigorated Bastien's semiregular pangs of regret for his part in trapping Byerly at a desk, so they're going to get lunch, and they're going to eat it outside. ]
You would have your piece of land, and your people, and that is all you would have to care for. Keep them fed, keep the wolves at bay–job done. The rest of the world wouldn't have to be your problem.
Maybe that wouldn't have been so bad.
[ He closes an open book on the table—not that it makes much difference in the lightly organized chaos of the room—and slides his hand into Byerly's to pull him along through the door. This avenue of conversation has reinvigorated Bastien's semiregular pangs of regret for his part in trapping Byerly at a desk, so they're going to get lunch, and they're going to eat it outside. ]
You would have your piece of land, and your people, and that is all you would have to care for. Keep them fed, keep the wolves at bay–job done. The rest of the world wouldn't have to be your problem.
How boring.
[ The letter is slipped into his breast pocket. His fingers interlace with Bastien's. What a pleasure it is to walk hand-in-hand with the man you love. No matter the world around them, no matter the difficulties before them, things are...good. ]
I'd have died of boredom.
[ The letter is slipped into his breast pocket. His fingers interlace with Bastien's. What a pleasure it is to walk hand-in-hand with the man you love. No matter the world around them, no matter the difficulties before them, things are...good. ]
I'd have died of boredom.
[ The image of Byerly collapsing during a discussion of grain stores is funny enough not to be sad. He laughs. ]
Maybe so.
[ He gives their hands a little extra swing. If they look like schoolchildren to passersby—good. ]
You never wanted to run away and be a pirate? Or Rat Red?
Maybe so.
[ He gives their hands a little extra swing. If they look like schoolchildren to passersby—good. ]
You never wanted to run away and be a pirate? Or Rat Red?
Maybe.
[ He tilts his head to the side and back again. ]
If I did, I don't recall it. I dreamed of heroics, to be sure, but always applied to where I was, to the people I was with. Until the moment I left, it didn't seem possible to me. To leave.
[ A reflective moment where he squeezes Bastien's hand. ]
It's funny, how the worst thing in your life can open up so much good.
[ He tilts his head to the side and back again. ]
If I did, I don't recall it. I dreamed of heroics, to be sure, but always applied to where I was, to the people I was with. Until the moment I left, it didn't seem possible to me. To leave.
[ A reflective moment where he squeezes Bastien's hand. ]
It's funny, how the worst thing in your life can open up so much good.
[ Bastien wrinkles his nose at By, like aw, you, with no need for explicit assurance he's part of that good. That's what nearly two years of being sweetly adored will do to a man.
But, ]
I think you would have had it even without the bad first, mon étoile brillante. One way or another. You are too bright and too bold for the boredom to have gotten you. You would have gotten it. Or gotten out. No one had to be cruel to you to make it happen.
But, ]
I think you would have had it even without the bad first, mon étoile brillante. One way or another. You are too bright and too bold for the boredom to have gotten you. You would have gotten it. Or gotten out. No one had to be cruel to you to make it happen.
[ His shoulders curl in with his tickled little laugh. Maker. Talk about getting more than he deserves. ]
Maybe not.
[ And that's an awful thought. ]
I have never believed in soul mates—have you? People being meant for one another, I never thought it was sweet. I thought, how terrifying, not to have any say. Like in the stories when someone is pulled toward someone who is awful for them, over and over again. Or to think if you don't find yours, if you find someone else you like well enough instead, it won't be as good. Nothing you do will ever make it as good. That's awful.
[ He moves close enough to By to walk with his cheek against his shoulder, for a few steps. It requires slowing down. At this rate they'll make it to lunch by dinner. ]
But now it's hard to imagine I wouldn't feel you missing.
Maybe not.
[ And that's an awful thought. ]
I have never believed in soul mates—have you? People being meant for one another, I never thought it was sweet. I thought, how terrifying, not to have any say. Like in the stories when someone is pulled toward someone who is awful for them, over and over again. Or to think if you don't find yours, if you find someone else you like well enough instead, it won't be as good. Nothing you do will ever make it as good. That's awful.
[ He moves close enough to By to walk with his cheek against his shoulder, for a few steps. It requires slowing down. At this rate they'll make it to lunch by dinner. ]
But now it's hard to imagine I wouldn't feel you missing.
[ He hums thoughtfully. It's not something he's thought about too deeply, truthfully - But it makes sense that Bastien would have. Bastien is so much more thoughtful than By, after all, so much better-read, with the sort of mind that doesn't just absorb stories but pulls them apart, like a puzzle, looking at all the pieces. So curious. So he speaks of soulmates, and By just smiles with warm bemusement as he considers this perspective. ]
It also - Well. I think we've done quite a lot of work to fall in love with each other, haven't we? If we were just predestined, it would have been quite a lot easier. No need to fumble over all those pieces of armor.
[ A squeeze in response to feeling him missing. He feels the same. If he had taken that different path - He cannot imagine it being as good as this one. ]
It also - Well. I think we've done quite a lot of work to fall in love with each other, haven't we? If we were just predestined, it would have been quite a lot easier. No need to fumble over all those pieces of armor.
[ A squeeze in response to feeling him missing. He feels the same. If he had taken that different path - He cannot imagine it being as good as this one. ]
Who's fumbling?
[ He's teasing, bright-eyed.
He spends another five seconds thinking of the life Byerly could have had if his childhood had been kinder. In all likelihood there would be someone else for him, or two or three someones, who'd love him just as well. So it's good that it's only hypothetical. No one's ever going to hold those two Byerlies out in their hands and make Bastien decide which exists. He'll never have to know how selfish he would be. ]
You're right. We did it, not fate. If anything had been different...
[ He swerves away from being at all sad about it. It's made up. Made-up scenarios don't get to make him sad. ]
Maybe it would have worked if we both changed. A young lord oppressed by his responsibilities, and—I don't know. Maybe I would be a miner. [ Kaiten is a mining city; he won't be saying that part out loud in the corridors. ] Can you imagine the shoulders I would have if I were a miner? If you saw my mining shoulders across a market square, you would have to come touch them. You'd be powerless.
[ He's teasing, bright-eyed.
He spends another five seconds thinking of the life Byerly could have had if his childhood had been kinder. In all likelihood there would be someone else for him, or two or three someones, who'd love him just as well. So it's good that it's only hypothetical. No one's ever going to hold those two Byerlies out in their hands and make Bastien decide which exists. He'll never have to know how selfish he would be. ]
You're right. We did it, not fate. If anything had been different...
[ He swerves away from being at all sad about it. It's made up. Made-up scenarios don't get to make him sad. ]
Maybe it would have worked if we both changed. A young lord oppressed by his responsibilities, and—I don't know. Maybe I would be a miner. [ Kaiten is a mining city; he won't be saying that part out loud in the corridors. ] Can you imagine the shoulders I would have if I were a miner? If you saw my mining shoulders across a market square, you would have to come touch them. You'd be powerless.
Edited 2022-05-31 03:46 (UTC)
[ He bursts out with a delighted cackle. Then he lifts his free arm, and hoods his eyes, and - without breaking his grip on Bastien's hand - staggers forward like one ensorcelled. ]
Must...caress...Cannot help myself...
[ And then he reaches over and lovingly strokes Bastien's ordinary-but-still-very-nice shoulder. ]
Must...caress...Cannot help myself...
[ And then he reaches over and lovingly strokes Bastien's ordinary-but-still-very-nice shoulder. ]
My lord.
[ In his Marcher accent, with a look that’s the precise combination of baffled and entranced that his simple miner counterpart would feel upon being caressed by a Fereldan lord with eyes like these. ]
—and then we could put in the work to fall in love, [ back to sounding properly Orlesian, and belatedly grinning at Byerly’s enchanted act now that he doesn’t need to act himself, ] and you could add me to your harem, and everything would be fine.
[ In his Marcher accent, with a look that’s the precise combination of baffled and entranced that his simple miner counterpart would feel upon being caressed by a Fereldan lord with eyes like these. ]
—and then we could put in the work to fall in love, [ back to sounding properly Orlesian, and belatedly grinning at Byerly’s enchanted act now that he doesn’t need to act himself, ] and you could add me to your harem, and everything would be fine.
[ Bastien aims a pleased smile over at him—it wasn’t a test, but right answer nonetheless—and adds some preening pep to his step for the next few paces. ]
But you will have to find new work for them, or I’ll feel horrible. Maybe they could groom the dogs.
But you will have to find new work for them, or I’ll feel horrible. Maybe they could groom the dogs.
Of which there would be a horde.
[ Even if he'd inherited it all, and husbanded it well, there would be no sufficient income for a half-dozen dogs, never mind a horde. But these are their imaginings; they can pretend whatever they'd like. ]
One minder for each dog. Absurdly good-looking people, walking find hounds on silk leashes.
[ Even if he'd inherited it all, and husbanded it well, there would be no sufficient income for a half-dozen dogs, never mind a horde. But these are their imaginings; they can pretend whatever they'd like. ]
One minder for each dog. Absurdly good-looking people, walking find hounds on silk leashes.
Yes. Lining up perfectly each morning for an inspection, a scratch, and a treat.
[ He turns a forward swing of their clasped hands neatly into pulling By’s up to kiss his knuckles. ]
Do you think your sister has any dogs? You should ask her. Or tell her I want to know—but make sure you say it is because I like dogs, not because I’m making fun of Ferelden.
[ He turns a forward swing of their clasped hands neatly into pulling By’s up to kiss his knuckles. ]
Do you think your sister has any dogs? You should ask her. Or tell her I want to know—but make sure you say it is because I like dogs, not because I’m making fun of Ferelden.
Cats!
[ Bastien likes cats just fine. Case in point: Byerly. Other case in point: he used to feed stray cats in the alley behind his shop, and his only complaint was that none of them would let him pet them half as much as he wanted to. Dogs are much better about that.
But, for show, he sounds slightly scandalized. ]
So you are both rebels.
[ Bastien likes cats just fine. Case in point: Byerly. Other case in point: he used to feed stray cats in the alley behind his shop, and his only complaint was that none of them would let him pet them half as much as he wanted to. Dogs are much better about that.
But, for show, he sounds slightly scandalized. ]
So you are both rebels.
Literal decades of debauchery.
[ He grins over at Bastien as they make their way down the last of the stairs, coming into the dining area. ]
None of us can forget the cautionary tale of the fourth Theirin king, who lost at the Landsmeet for having been seen scratching a kitten behind the ears.
[ He grins over at Bastien as they make their way down the last of the stairs, coming into the dining area. ]
None of us can forget the cautionary tale of the fourth Theirin king, who lost at the Landsmeet for having been seen scratching a kitten behind the ears.
[ Bastien shoots Byerly a suspicious look, but it’s only after they’ve run the gauntlet of the dining hall—passing hellos here, friendly nods there, a pause to do a quick double act for an old laundress who’s slowly finishing up her meal alone and looks like she could use a laugh—that he says, ]
That isn’t true, about the Landsmeet.
[ He has finally let go of Byerly’s hand to hold a plank of wood that serves as a tray, on one arm, and pile things onto it with the other hand.
His renewed look of suspicion is also a look of interest. Maybe hope. He would prefer for it to be true. ]
That isn’t true, about the Landsmeet.
[ He has finally let go of Byerly’s hand to hold a plank of wood that serves as a tray, on one arm, and pile things onto it with the other hand.
His renewed look of suspicion is also a look of interest. Maybe hope. He would prefer for it to be true. ]
Yes, but—
[ Tray laden with lunch, he turns to lead the way back out of the dining hall, past the boring tables. They're going outside. And not to the walled-in gardens. All the way outside. ]
—we deserve something perfect.
If we make enough people believe it, that will almost be like it's true.
[ Tray laden with lunch, he turns to lead the way back out of the dining hall, past the boring tables. They're going outside. And not to the walled-in gardens. All the way outside. ]
—we deserve something perfect.
If we make enough people believe it, that will almost be like it's true.
[ Byerly. ]
Don't I?
[ All innocence. And all reflex. He regrets it as soon as he's said it, because it's Laura, who is in some ways still making sense of the world and doesn't need him making it any harder to figure people out. He relents immediately. ]
I mean, never is a strong word. And you don't talk about yourself very much either, in my experience, unless I ask you.
Don't I?
[ All innocence. And all reflex. He regrets it as soon as he's said it, because it's Laura, who is in some ways still making sense of the world and doesn't need him making it any harder to figure people out. He relents immediately. ]
I mean, never is a strong word. And you don't talk about yourself very much either, in my experience, unless I ask you.
Everyone already knows about me.
[ Except that's not quite the truth anymore; Riftwatch has had enough people come and go that murderer doesn't cling to her shadow quite so strongly as it did two years ago. ]
Do you think people will find you uninteresting?
[ Except that's not quite the truth anymore; Riftwatch has had enough people come and go that murderer doesn't cling to her shadow quite so strongly as it did two years ago. ]
Do you think people will find you uninteresting?
I think it is one reason.
And I think you are trying to distract me.
And I think you are trying to distract me.
You already know about me.
[ But it doesn't sound particularly stubborn. ]
Who were you before Riftwatch?
[ But it doesn't sound particularly stubborn. ]
Who were you before Riftwatch?
I was Édouard Almary, a printer who came to Val Royeaux from the Deauvin Flats.
[ Monsieur Almary had a whole story. An imaginary family. Toward the end of Bastien's six-year stint with that false identity, there were days it even felt real. But it's hardly relevant now. ]
Only for a few years, though. Before that I was a bard.
[ Monsieur Almary had a whole story. An imaginary family. Toward the end of Bastien's six-year stint with that false identity, there were days it even felt real. But it's hardly relevant now. ]
Only for a few years, though. Before that I was a bard.
You changed your name.
[ Of course he did. A bard, or a former bard, might change their name over and over. But Bastien has always seemed so steadfastly one thing that it still feels surprising to know. ]
Did you like being a bard?
[ Of course he did. A bard, or a former bard, might change their name over and over. But Bastien has always seemed so steadfastly one thing that it still feels surprising to know. ]
Did you like being a bard?
Sometimes. Often, in the beginning, and less often at the end. After I quit I missed the—the work, I suppose. The excitement. It's good to be doing some of it again now, for a better reason.
Now you have to tell me...
[ A moment to think. She's right; he does know about her past. Not all of the details, of course, but enough to know it's full of trip wires. ]
Something you want to do after the war.
Now you have to tell me...
[ A moment to think. She's right; he does know about her past. Not all of the details, of course, but enough to know it's full of trip wires. ]
Something you want to do after the war.
[ This, she has to think about, too. Bastien has told her things she didn't already know; she doesn't want to respond with something he could easily guess. ]
I want to go back to Nevarra. I want to find the place where I lived and make sure no one can ever make someone like me again.
[ Possibly sooner than after the war - during a war is when someone would want to. ]
And I want to visit someone at their home.
I want to go back to Nevarra. I want to find the place where I lived and make sure no one can ever make someone like me again.
[ Possibly sooner than after the war - during a war is when someone would want to. ]
And I want to visit someone at their home.
Someone.
[ Helpful, Laura. But if she'd meant a specific person, she'd say the name instead. ]
If the war ends, people will leave. I want to visit them where they want to live, not where they have to.
[ Helpful, Laura. But if she'd meant a specific person, she'd say the name instead. ]
If the war ends, people will leave. I want to visit them where they want to live, not where they have to.
No. But I read Brother Genitivi's thoughts on it.
If I can, I will.
And I will bring Matthias. He would like soup inside bread.
And I will bring Matthias. He would like soup inside bread.
[ Her ability to answer with something true and personal is helped along by his own bravery in another conversation. ]
He understands me. I like to be understood. And I understand him.
He understands me. I like to be understood. And I understand him.
[ His smile is audible. ]
It’s hard to think of anything better.
[ He’s not her father; he doubts she needs one, and the most he’s ever aspire to being for anyone is a fun uncle. But still. He’s most familiar with Matthias as someone calling Byerly a wanker and saying he wouldn’t care if he died, so— ]
And he’s kind to you? He listens? No name-calling?
[ Asked mildly, with only a small amount of real worry. He’s pretty sure Laura wouldn’t tolerate it. But only pretty. ]
It’s hard to think of anything better.
[ He’s not her father; he doubts she needs one, and the most he’s ever aspire to being for anyone is a fun uncle. But still. He’s most familiar with Matthias as someone calling Byerly a wanker and saying he wouldn’t care if he died, so— ]
And he’s kind to you? He listens? No name-calling?
[ Asked mildly, with only a small amount of real worry. He’s pretty sure Laura wouldn’t tolerate it. But only pretty. ]
No.
[ Her answer is immediate. The very question feels peculiar; if anything, she's of a mood to think herself far less kind. Matthias has learned to heal people, and she still exists to harm them. (Even Matthias himself, if only by accident.) She leaves the Gallows - and him - for months at a time, and he's never resentful. ]
He always listens. Unless I don't wish to say anything. Then he talks.
Is Byerly kind to you?
[ Her answer is immediate. The very question feels peculiar; if anything, she's of a mood to think herself far less kind. Matthias has learned to heal people, and she still exists to harm them. (Even Matthias himself, if only by accident.) She leaves the Gallows - and him - for months at a time, and he's never resentful. ]
He always listens. Unless I don't wish to say anything. Then he talks.
Is Byerly kind to you?
Always.
[ Shocking as that might be to some people who get his argumentative, ornery pieces. But that’s why Bastien’s willing to believe without question that Matthias is gentle with Laura. No one is only one thing all the time with everyone. ]
If he weren’t, I’d have called things off a long time ago. And thrown all of his clothes into the harbor.
[ Shocking as that might be to some people who get his argumentative, ornery pieces. But that’s why Bastien’s willing to believe without question that Matthias is gentle with Laura. No one is only one thing all the time with everyone. ]
If he weren’t, I’d have called things off a long time ago. And thrown all of his clothes into the harbor.
Edited 2022-06-11 14:32 (UTC)
[ This brings out a startled little laugh from her, delighted at the thought. ]
I told him I was happy for him. I'm happier for you.
I told him I was happy for him. I'm happier for you.
[ If she isn't the first person to be happy for him, she's certainly the first one to say so.
Which is fine. That's the risk a fellow runs, taking up with a (technically) married man who has a history of riling people up for kicks and/or intel, who's sometimes genuinely moody and difficult, and has now been saddled with a position where he cannot possibly please everyone in their rowdy and disparate little organization and has more important work to do than try. If what Bastien needed was for everyone to be happy for him, he'd have married Catarina Barreau and had half a dozen very boring children.
But it's still awfully nice to hear. ]
Thank you.
[ And after a moment to be quiet and pleased, ]
Tell me something else. Tell me when you realized you like Matthias, or what your favorite season is.
Which is fine. That's the risk a fellow runs, taking up with a (technically) married man who has a history of riling people up for kicks and/or intel, who's sometimes genuinely moody and difficult, and has now been saddled with a position where he cannot possibly please everyone in their rowdy and disparate little organization and has more important work to do than try. If what Bastien needed was for everyone to be happy for him, he'd have married Catarina Barreau and had half a dozen very boring children.
But it's still awfully nice to hear. ]
Thank you.
[ And after a moment to be quiet and pleased, ]
Tell me something else. Tell me when you realized you like Matthias, or what your favorite season is.
[ If there's one thing she's learned, both from life in the Gallows and life before it, it's that people's relationships are complicated and frequently opaque. She doesn't know, for instance, exactly how things work behind Madame de Cedoux's door, but she knows it involves two other people, and they each seem satisfied to carry the others' scents. That is enough.
Bastien is her friend, and he's happy. That can be enough, too. ]
Right before winter. When the weather is cool, but it isn't cold.
How did you realize you liked Byerly?
Bastien is her friend, and he's happy. That can be enough, too. ]
Right before winter. When the weather is cool, but it isn't cold.
How did you realize you liked Byerly?
[ He laughs. That’s what he gets for giving her choices. And for making one of them a hard question. ]
How I realized I liked him—
[ Different from loved, thank the Maker. ]
We are old, you know, and we have known each other for a long time. It happened by inches. I thought he was handsome when I first saw him. Only handsome, though. The sort of places I spent time in back then—it was not unusual for the children of nobles to wander through for a year or two while they were avoiding their great burdens. [ Touch of sarcasm there. ] I liked to tell them lies and take their money. I assumed he was like them.
The first time we played together—music, I mean—that is how I realized he was interesting. I didn't expect him to be able to keep up with me, but he was better than I was. He still is. You should go listen to him play in Lowtown sometime, if you haven't, he's really—
[ He stops and puts himself back on track. ]
And then it turned out he was poorer than I was and not anything like the awful company he was keeping. I liked him plenty then. But he was in love with someone else. And so was I.
How I realized I liked him—
[ Different from loved, thank the Maker. ]
We are old, you know, and we have known each other for a long time. It happened by inches. I thought he was handsome when I first saw him. Only handsome, though. The sort of places I spent time in back then—it was not unusual for the children of nobles to wander through for a year or two while they were avoiding their great burdens. [ Touch of sarcasm there. ] I liked to tell them lies and take their money. I assumed he was like them.
The first time we played together—music, I mean—that is how I realized he was interesting. I didn't expect him to be able to keep up with me, but he was better than I was. He still is. You should go listen to him play in Lowtown sometime, if you haven't, he's really—
[ He stops and puts himself back on track. ]
And then it turned out he was poorer than I was and not anything like the awful company he was keeping. I liked him plenty then. But he was in love with someone else. And so was I.
[ When Bastien tells stories, they're always enjoyable - but hearing tales about himself has a new sort of fascination for her. She soaks this one up eagerly, silent on the other end of the crystal, but rapt. ]
With whom?
With whom?
[ He hums, because it’s her turn, and he’s considering enforcing his made-up rules instead of answering. But he doesn’t. ]
His name was Vincent Suchet. He was an art dealer. He had a crooked front tooth and he liked raspberries and he was always making plans. Every time you talked to him, a new scheme.
[ She might want to know who Byerly was in love with, too, but that’s Byerly’s and Alexandrie’s story to tell. ]
Did you ever know anyone your own age, before you came here?
His name was Vincent Suchet. He was an art dealer. He had a crooked front tooth and he liked raspberries and he was always making plans. Every time you talked to him, a new scheme.
[ She might want to know who Byerly was in love with, too, but that’s Byerly’s and Alexandrie’s story to tell. ]
Did you ever know anyone your own age, before you came here?
[ She's ready to ask him more, to try and ferret out a story about Vincent, but Bastien has a question, too. It's a trip wire, and it's one she doesn't want to answer. Bastien would likely let her say so, but he's said more about himself than she'd expected. She wants to do him the same courtesy.
So, after a breath: ]
Other prostitutes. And I had a friend, in Cumberland.
[ How long has it been since she thought of Kiden? ]
I do not wish to talk about them.
So, after a breath: ]
Other prostitutes. And I had a friend, in Cumberland.
[ How long has it been since she thought of Kiden? ]
I do not wish to talk about them.
D’accord.
[ Unhesitating, unbothered—though of course it always bothers him a little, when there’s a stone he’s told not to turn. He loves turning stones.
But people are allowed to have boundaries.
At least when he likes them and hasn’t been sent on a mission to turn that particular stone. ]
Something else, then. Your choice.
[ Unhesitating, unbothered—though of course it always bothers him a little, when there’s a stone he’s told not to turn. He loves turning stones.
But people are allowed to have boundaries.
At least when he likes them and hasn’t been sent on a mission to turn that particular stone. ]
Something else, then. Your choice.
[ Relief, then - she learned the idea of relief fairly early on in Kirkwall, and it's a sensation she's felt over and over since. Bastien doesn't ask about Kiden, or about what she means when she says other prostitutes, or what she thought of Cumberland.
She loves him for it.
And, tentatively, the first thing she can think of that is about nothing they've talked on: ]
I have read every book in the Gallows about the Black Fox. I wish we had more.
She loves him for it.
And, tentatively, the first thing she can think of that is about nothing they've talked on: ]
I have read every book in the Gallows about the Black Fox. I wish we had more.
[ He’ll remember, if she ever does want to talk about it, or if something ever happens to make it necessary whether she wants to or not, or if she’s ever sent back to Cumberland for Riftwatch, or if he ever hears the name Kiden in a rumor. If the ghosts and spirits that love to bother them all ever bother her about this.
But for now: moving past it, gasping in a hyperbolic but genuine way. ]
You have? Oh, I can get you more. I have some of my own you can borrow—only a few, I only keep the best ones. If you want more after that, we can go shopping.
—you like them? [ Probably more important, but he got excited there for a second. ] The stories?
But for now: moving past it, gasping in a hyperbolic but genuine way. ]
You have? Oh, I can get you more. I have some of my own you can borrow—only a few, I only keep the best ones. If you want more after that, we can go shopping.
—you like them? [ Probably more important, but he got excited there for a second. ] The stories?
I like all stories. But the Black Fox does good things for people.
[ Rescuing ordinary people from ignoble fates at the hands of the powerful - it's an appealing throughline for Laura. ]
If I may borrow yours, I will.
[ Rescuing ordinary people from ignoble fates at the hands of the powerful - it's an appealing throughline for Laura. ]
If I may borrow yours, I will.
Of course you may.
[ He'd be delighted. ]
The first real book I ever read was about the Black Fox. The people who taught me to read, they started with children's primers, then poetry and their friends' pamphlets—but then they finally asked me what I wanted to read, and, [ he does a snap-and-point, invisible but audible, ] Black Fox.
[ He'd be delighted. ]
The first real book I ever read was about the Black Fox. The people who taught me to read, they started with children's primers, then poetry and their friends' pamphlets—but then they finally asked me what I wanted to read, and, [ he does a snap-and-point, invisible but audible, ] Black Fox.
The first thing I chose to read was a book of fairy tales.
[ She can understand the instinct, that is to say. ]
Which is your favourite story?
[ She can understand the instinct, that is to say. ]
Which is your favourite story?
I like the ones about how Black Fox and Karolis became friends.
[ Many versions, but if she's read the books, she knows the gist: a bounty hunter sent after the Black Fox, who nearly killed him on several occasions, until he was instead so impressed by him that he gave up his profession and joined Remi in a joyful life of crime. ]
And I liked the ones where he trained the young Duke Bastien de Ghislain, because we had the same name, you know? So it was like I was in them.
[ It's almost true. ]
Your fairy tale book—was one of them the Bone and Velvet Boy?
[ Many versions, but if she's read the books, she knows the gist: a bounty hunter sent after the Black Fox, who nearly killed him on several occasions, until he was instead so impressed by him that he gave up his profession and joined Remi in a joyful life of crime. ]
And I liked the ones where he trained the young Duke Bastien de Ghislain, because we had the same name, you know? So it was like I was in them.
[ It's almost true. ]
Your fairy tale book—was one of them the Bone and Velvet Boy?
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