[ Bastien considers that. He’s still considering it—how he can’t honestly say he doesn’t care what Athessa thinks of Byerly, and vice versa—while he stalls for a moment by gesturing to the mostly-bare shelves over the desk, now somewhat less bare for the addition of a painting of the night sky over a bit of harbor. ]
Colin gave that to me recently. He came by because he’d decided we should get to know each other better. It was strange—his favorite subjects seem to be how mages have suffered and how little he likes talking about himself.
[ A little mean to say. But what’s better for feeling awkward than knowing the people who made you feel that way aren’t any better? ]
But unless it turns out he wants something, later, it was sweet that he was trying so hard.
[ There is nothing better than someone saying something mean about someone you feel awkward around. It's better than the finest wines in Antiva. By thinks that this is part of his problem - there are so few bitchy people here that he can gossip with. ]
Oh, yes, the boy is sweet. No question of that. And also, in the way of so many sweet people, quite remarkably judgmental.
Oh, you know. After all that - [ The arrangement and manipulation of the trial that saw Colin's tormentor punished - ] I offered the young fellow a place in Rutyer lands. With, of course, the caveat that he'd need to help ensure that my dear cousin Richars wasn't the Bann if he wanted the land habitable. I'll allow that I did not propose this in the most graceful way, but immediately the assumption was one of manipulation and ill intent.
[ And the record has certainly shown just how much that destroys Byerly. ]
Ah. Well—I feel less guilty for thinking he must want something from me, then.
[ He wouldn't feel guilty regardless. Not about Colin. Guilt doesn't happen to him easily, and nearly everyone wants something, so it isn't really an insult to think they must. But he does feel a little pang, unfocused in the background and in need of further examination, about what he's doing with Byerly. The hovering and waiting, anticipating discovering that he's been used, however unintentionally and forgivably, and that By doesn't really mean what he's said. Maybe it's not dissimilar. Maybe Byerly's earned better than that from him.
But staying on topic: ]
That would have been a long time ago, no? Do you think he still thinks that of you?
Oh, he apologized after. Baked me quite a grand cake as an act of contrition, or to show off his skills, or a bit of both. It ended in another fight, though.
[ He thinks of Colin. Thinks of Athessa. ]
I do not know if it will ever be otherwise. I wonder if there are some things which, once broken, can never be repaired.
I think most things can be put back together, but putting the same pieces back into the same shape, it is never really the same. There will be cracks. Points of weakness where you can never put too much pressure again. You have to add something new to strengthen them, or remake them into a new shape that uses the pieces as they are instead of as they were—
[ He gives a little swirl to the chocolate in his cup, looking down at it pensively. ]
I suppose, also...Well. As you identified, the things he wants to talk about are painful things. Mage suffering, other suffering, his suffering. The heartstrings can only be tugged so much until they snap, and I was never a man with strong heartstrings. And they're under rather a lot of pressure of late.
So I wish peace with the boy. Why would I not? As you said, he's sweet. But.
[ Bastien watches him, then looks back at the painting on his shelf. ]
Perhaps he talks so much of suffering because it is what he knows best. I said something like it to him, even: people love to talk about their areas of expertise. Especially when they feel awkward or uncertain, they retreat back into what is familiar to them.
But it is not wrong for you to be unable to hold everything everyone holds out to you.
[ He smiles, but it's rather flat. Either a measure of his misery or his comfort with Bastien, that he expends less energy to posture. ]
She thinks I am a coward and should be ashamed of myself for giving up on him. By the by, I am fully aware of the irony of coming to you to complain about someone who complains too much.
[ So easily it might be mistaken for courteous dismissal, so he follows up, balancing his hot chocolate on his lap so he can use his hands for an illustrated metaphor: both hands held up vertical and flat, tilting in unison to make a point, both literally and figuratively. ]
You lean, I lean. [ He wobbles his illustration a little. ] No one falls over.
[ And a demonstration of falling over, too, with one hand straightening up and then being pressed over backwards by the weight of the other. Then his hands return to the important business of hot chocolate. ]
[ He hopes that Bastien isn't just being kind. It feels like the pain that By brings far outweighs the pain that Bastien brings. Thank the Maker, he thinks, that he caught Bastien that afternoon in the rain, and heard his story. Any other moment, and Bastien likely wouldn't have permitted that vulnerability - but having been brought in, By now knows. Leaning against each other. ]
I'm a bit of a coward. I spent quite a long time running away from Alexandrie.
[ Matter-of-factly. ]
But...This doesn't quite feel like cowardice. Not like that.
I think he is not good at seeing how much is too much for someone. Where the line is. Like a fish–fuck.
[ Now he'll notice them all. But he continues, resigned: ]
—a fish thinks everyone is fine being wet. Except who fucking knows what fish think. [ Another drink. ] But maybe you could be friendly without being that sort of friend. If you wanted to be. You do not have to be friends with everyone. Even Athessa, as long as you don't hate each other.
That's the torture of being here, I think. I used to be the undisputed master of being friendly without being a friend. [ A little gesture towards Bastien; him as well, no? ] But everyone here is just so fucking full of feelings.
[ Unlike them, of course; they are chill.
A slight pivot: ]
Why do you like Athessa?
[ It's not asked cruelly; rather, it's genuine curiosity. ]
He hums, thoughtful. Why does he like Athessa. It seems like a question not properly answered by rattling off positive qualities. He could do that for anyone. ]
The first time we really talked, she told me she left her clan because she was recruited as a secret agent. It was actually something sad, of course—it is always something sad. But the urge to tell it as something better...
[ A shrug. He relates. ]
She makes me laugh. She is having a hard time right now, but usually we have a similar rhythm—not taking things too seriously until we do, and then not taking them too seriously again to shake it off. And I wouldn't tell her everything I tell you, but when I do want to tell her something, she listens, and when I am done wanting to tell her things, she lets me stop.
And she trusts me. It is nice to be trusted—really trusted, by someone who even knows the reasons why they perhaps should not. And, [ speaking of shaking off seriousness, ] she is taking me to Rivain on a griffon someday.
[ He pulls a face - not at Bastien's fondness, but at the thought of going anywhere on a griffon. Nothing wrong with griffons, just quite a lot wrong with going up that high. ]
Why don't you get along? You can tell me. I will try to pretend you are talking about someone I don't care about—and anyway, I don't care about her because I think she is perfect. No one is.
Similar to Colin, I fancy. Starting off by doing me the injury of seeing me incorrectly. And then taking no time to find lenses to correct her vision. [ Another shrug. ] I told her of my peculiar little vocation, and she told me I was a liar. I think. Or maybe she does believe me, and simply gives no shits, because not a single question was asked. And she tells me it's my fault, because I am a liar.
I suspect, truthfully, that she may simply want me to solve her problems for her. Which I'm all right with, in truth; I simply would prefer her to be honest about that, rather than trying to veil it with I want to be your friend.
[ Thoughtful. Despite his promise to pretend, it's obviously hard not to think of the Athessa Byerly is talking about as the one who recently listened to his troubles and kissed his forehead goodnight. But he tries. ]
You know, she did the same thing with me. Not all of it, I mean, but when I told her I was a bard. No when or why or how, then or in all the time I have been training her. Which is fine with me. I don't particularly want to tell her. But I expected to have to at least do some evasion, and no. I think it is just how she is.
Indifferent? [ A shake of his head. ] She was demanding to know why I was such a liar, and when I told her, she barely even acknowledged I'd given her an answer. Blacksmith, why are your hands so rough? No, that makes no sense, give me the real answer.
You should have made it about your childhood. Once you told the truth to a Chantry Sister and she switched you for it, so you learned it was best to lie, and now whenever you begin to speak the truth you see that willow branch.
I don’t know. Perhaps some of it is indifference. She has been frustrated with you lately, so I’m sure she isn’t approaching everything with an open and generous heart.
But I think she is also—different, than we are. She shares herself easily. I think she expects other people to do it, too. Like—
[ Damn it. Another. ]
—how some people think an open door is an invitation to walk inside and sit down, and others will stand outside waiting to be invited. We need the invitation, but she might think we are the strange ones for standing outside the door.
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Colin gave that to me recently. He came by because he’d decided we should get to know each other better. It was strange—his favorite subjects seem to be how mages have suffered and how little he likes talking about himself.
[ A little mean to say. But what’s better for feeling awkward than knowing the people who made you feel that way aren’t any better? ]
But unless it turns out he wants something, later, it was sweet that he was trying so hard.
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Oh, yes, the boy is sweet. No question of that. And also, in the way of so many sweet people, quite remarkably judgmental.
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[ He drinks his hot chocolate and raises his eyebrows. Go on. ]
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Oh, you know. After all that - [ The arrangement and manipulation of the trial that saw Colin's tormentor punished - ] I offered the young fellow a place in Rutyer lands. With, of course, the caveat that he'd need to help ensure that my dear cousin Richars wasn't the Bann if he wanted the land habitable. I'll allow that I did not propose this in the most graceful way, but immediately the assumption was one of manipulation and ill intent.
[ And the record has certainly shown just how much that destroys Byerly. ]
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[ He wouldn't feel guilty regardless. Not about Colin. Guilt doesn't happen to him easily, and nearly everyone wants something, so it isn't really an insult to think they must. But he does feel a little pang, unfocused in the background and in need of further examination, about what he's doing with Byerly. The hovering and waiting, anticipating discovering that he's been used, however unintentionally and forgivably, and that By doesn't really mean what he's said. Maybe it's not dissimilar. Maybe Byerly's earned better than that from him.
But staying on topic: ]
That would have been a long time ago, no? Do you think he still thinks that of you?
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[ He thinks of Colin. Thinks of Athessa. ]
I do not know if it will ever be otherwise. I wonder if there are some things which, once broken, can never be repaired.
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[ He stops, sighs at himself. ]
Metaphors. Do you want it to be otherwise?
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Metaphors.
[ He gives a little swirl to the chocolate in his cup, looking down at it pensively. ]
I suppose, also...Well. As you identified, the things he wants to talk about are painful things. Mage suffering, other suffering, his suffering. The heartstrings can only be tugged so much until they snap, and I was never a man with strong heartstrings. And they're under rather a lot of pressure of late.
So I wish peace with the boy. Why would I not? As you said, he's sweet. But.
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Perhaps he talks so much of suffering because it is what he knows best. I said something like it to him, even: people love to talk about their areas of expertise. Especially when they feel awkward or uncertain, they retreat back into what is familiar to them.
But it is not wrong for you to be unable to hold everything everyone holds out to you.
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[ He smiles, but it's rather flat. Either a measure of his misery or his comfort with Bastien, that he expends less energy to posture. ]
She thinks I am a coward and should be ashamed of myself for giving up on him. By the by, I am fully aware of the irony of coming to you to complain about someone who complains too much.
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[ So easily it might be mistaken for courteous dismissal, so he follows up, balancing his hot chocolate on his lap so he can use his hands for an illustrated metaphor: both hands held up vertical and flat, tilting in unison to make a point, both literally and figuratively. ]
You lean, I lean. [ He wobbles his illustration a little. ] No one falls over.
[ And a demonstration of falling over, too, with one hand straightening up and then being pressed over backwards by the weight of the other. Then his hands return to the important business of hot chocolate. ]
You are not a coward.
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Metaphors.
[ He hopes that Bastien isn't just being kind. It feels like the pain that By brings far outweighs the pain that Bastien brings. Thank the Maker, he thinks, that he caught Bastien that afternoon in the rain, and heard his story. Any other moment, and Bastien likely wouldn't have permitted that vulnerability - but having been brought in, By now knows. Leaning against each other. ]
I'm a bit of a coward. I spent quite a long time running away from Alexandrie.
[ Matter-of-factly. ]
But...This doesn't quite feel like cowardice. Not like that.
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I think he is not good at seeing how much is too much for someone. Where the line is. Like a fish–fuck.
[ Now he'll notice them all. But he continues, resigned: ]
—a fish thinks everyone is fine being wet. Except who fucking knows what fish think. [ Another drink. ] But maybe you could be friendly without being that sort of friend. If you wanted to be. You do not have to be friends with everyone. Even Athessa, as long as you don't hate each other.
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[ Unlike them, of course; they are chill.
A slight pivot: ]
Why do you like Athessa?
[ It's not asked cruelly; rather, it's genuine curiosity. ]
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He hums, thoughtful. Why does he like Athessa. It seems like a question not properly answered by rattling off positive qualities. He could do that for anyone. ]
The first time we really talked, she told me she left her clan because she was recruited as a secret agent. It was actually something sad, of course—it is always something sad. But the urge to tell it as something better...
[ A shrug. He relates. ]
She makes me laugh. She is having a hard time right now, but usually we have a similar rhythm—not taking things too seriously until we do, and then not taking them too seriously again to shake it off. And I wouldn't tell her everything I tell you, but when I do want to tell her something, she listens, and when I am done wanting to tell her things, she lets me stop.
And she trusts me. It is nice to be trusted—really trusted, by someone who even knows the reasons why they perhaps should not. And, [ speaking of shaking off seriousness, ] she is taking me to Rivain on a griffon someday.
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And why do you want us to get along?
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[ For starters. ]
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Why don't you get along? You can tell me. I will try to pretend you are talking about someone I don't care about—and anyway, I don't care about her because I think she is perfect. No one is.
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[ A breath out. Then a shrug. ]
Similar to Colin, I fancy. Starting off by doing me the injury of seeing me incorrectly. And then taking no time to find lenses to correct her vision. [ Another shrug. ] I told her of my peculiar little vocation, and she told me I was a liar. I think. Or maybe she does believe me, and simply gives no shits, because not a single question was asked. And she tells me it's my fault, because I am a liar.
I suspect, truthfully, that she may simply want me to solve her problems for her. Which I'm all right with, in truth; I simply would prefer her to be honest about that, rather than trying to veil it with I want to be your friend.
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[ Thoughtful. Despite his promise to pretend, it's obviously hard not to think of the Athessa Byerly is talking about as the one who recently listened to his troubles and kissed his forehead goodnight. But he tries. ]
You know, she did the same thing with me. Not all of it, I mean, but when I told her I was a bard. No when or why or how, then or in all the time I have been training her. Which is fine with me. I don't particularly want to tell her. But I expected to have to at least do some evasion, and no. I think it is just how she is.
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Indifferent? [ A shake of his head. ] She was demanding to know why I was such a liar, and when I told her, she barely even acknowledged I'd given her an answer. Blacksmith, why are your hands so rough? No, that makes no sense, give me the real answer.
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Alas, dear Bastien, not all of us have hearts that can be satisfied by telling a tale like that.
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I think—
I don’t know. Perhaps some of it is indifference. She has been frustrated with you lately, so I’m sure she isn’t approaching everything with an open and generous heart.
But I think she is also—different, than we are. She shares herself easily. I think she expects other people to do it, too. Like—
[ Damn it. Another. ]
—how some people think an open door is an invitation to walk inside and sit down, and others will stand outside waiting to be invited. We need the invitation, but she might think we are the strange ones for standing outside the door.
I am not sure the Dalish even have doors.
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