[ 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. ]
[ 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.
[ 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.
[ 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 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.
[ 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.
[ 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. ]
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.
[ 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.
[ 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. ]
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 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. ]
[ 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.
—little ones. [ He makes the universal gesture for itty bitty with his free hand. ] Not so large I would only have you to myself once a month. That’s not enough.
[ 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.
[ 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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ 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?
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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.
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Opening a southern front in the war, eh? Launching a charm offensive.
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[ 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.
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[ 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. ]
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[ 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?
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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.
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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.
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[ 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.
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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?
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[ 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.
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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.
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But I might not have met you.
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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.
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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. ]
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[ 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.
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Must...caress...Cannot help myself...
[ And then he reaches over and lovingly strokes Bastien's ordinary-but-still-very-nice shoulder. ]
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[ 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.
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[ Better and better. Dropping his own act: ]
Would I have a harem?
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—little ones. [ He makes the universal gesture for itty bitty with his free hand. ] Not so large I would only have you to myself once a month. That’s not enough.
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[ He gives a fond little pinch to Bastien's shoulder. ]
Sorry, harem; you're out of work.
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But you will have to find new work for them, or I’ll feel horrible. Maybe they could groom the dogs.
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[ 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.
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[ 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.
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[ Fondly: ]
She always preferred cats.
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