[ 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.
[ 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.
[ 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. ]
[ 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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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[ 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.
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How much drugs and sex does it take to surpass loving cats, in Ferelden?
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[ 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.
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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. ]
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[ By looks over at Bastien with mournfulness that's mostly playacted but a little genuine, too. ]
It's not. It would be just a little too perfect, wouldn't it?
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[ 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.
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History is what we make it. A little evil, but I love it.
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