[ 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?
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.
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.
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. ]
[ 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.
[ 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. ]
[ 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.
The elf question. The mage question. The Orlesian question. That last one was put to me the most, back at the time. [ A faint smile. ] But...Abstract questions, for the most part. Better for salons than for pamphlets in the streets.
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?
[ 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.
[ 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. ]
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.
[ 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.
[ 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.
[ 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.
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.
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[ 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.
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So maybe it is you who decides, conteur.
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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?
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[ 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.
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[ 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.
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[ 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. ]
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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.
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Well.
[ Not giving this information up too easily. ]
I come from a famously conservative line.
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[ 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.
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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?
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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.
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[ 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.
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[ 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. ]
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[ A prompt more than a statement. Patient. ]
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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.
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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.
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But being a spy, on the other hand...
[ He tilts his head to the side. And, a bit of a challenge: ]
Did the Bard ever have convictions?
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[ 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.
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[ 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.
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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.
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[ 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.
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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.
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And so those who feel fiercely that their political calling is to oppress the elves...Where do their politics come from?
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[ 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.
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