[ The fact that Bastien does not look away from his book, eyes continuing to pass over the lines rather than turning up to Byerly's face with a smile, is the only sign that he's the least bit anxious about that question.
But a pretty clear one, to someone familiar enough. ]
I was thinking I should write first this time. Even if they can't read it themselves, someone could read it to them. That's more polite than showing up out of nowhere, isn't it?
[ Byerly doesn’t make Bastien look up at him, doesn’t put himself in his eyeline. Instead, he just reaches out, and takes Bastien’s free hand, and presses it between both of his. ]
I suppose it is. Would they be expecting politeness?
[ His twitch of a smile is a silent heh. For a moment image of his mother spitting on the cobblestones between her and a passive aggressive Orlesian neighbor replaces the rollicking naval battle in the book— ]
No.
[ —which he does stop reading now, letting it fall back at a lazy angle in his hand while he looks to his other, sandwiched between Byerly’s. By’s hands are long-fingered and fine. His are blunt and solid. So it’s a pretty good sandwich. A respectable amount of filling between two fine pieces of bread. ]
If you say it would only be stalling, I’ll agree to agree.
[ Within the hand sandwich, Bastien bends and rubs one knuckle up against By's finger. The one with his ring, to make it wiggle. ]
I'm,
[ ready? No. Not the way he likes to be ready, variables accounted for and head clear. But as ready as he's going to get. And there is still Nadine, far away in Gwaren—no quick jaunt, that—and a time approaching when Byerly will have to decide whether or not to stall, too. ]
Could you get away this week? We would have to come back before Monsieur L'Euilled Ouebbre's scribes arrive—we cannot miss them.
[ What pleasure it is to have that liberty. He can say that - doesn't have to hem or haw or think about compromises. He does not matter like he used to; he can get away this week. ]
We shall ensure we're not overstaying our welcome; that's all.
[ Byerly, who does not like horses, both because his ass is so skinny and because he does not have the proper proportions to look particularly dashing atop one, considers this. ]
[ Is that reasonable for the distance on the map. What is the scale of the map. If it took Hawke two weeks to sail from Gwaren to Kirkwall then the maximum possible distance between those points would be like 1,400 miles at most. That would mean Ferelden is similar in height to the continental United States (on average not the high and low points). And in that case the distance between Kirkwall and where we stuck Kaiten is probably not a two day journey. But that’s also assuming the sailing journey was easy and the ship was that fast. Maybe Ferelden is actually the length of Great Britain. I don’t know. Don’t look at me. ]
You could ride with me. Side saddle. In my arms. Cradled the whole way.
[ Regardless of the distance, this is a joke. He would not make his poor little horse carry two adult men all the way up into the mountains. ]
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Should we venture to Kaiten? One of these days?
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But a pretty clear one, to someone familiar enough. ]
I was thinking I should write first this time. Even if they can't read it themselves, someone could read it to them. That's more polite than showing up out of nowhere, isn't it?
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I suppose it is. Would they be expecting politeness?
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No.
[ —which he does stop reading now, letting it fall back at a lazy angle in his hand while he looks to his other, sandwiched between Byerly’s. By’s hands are long-fingered and fine. His are blunt and solid. So it’s a pretty good sandwich. A respectable amount of filling between two fine pieces of bread. ]
If you say it would only be stalling, I’ll agree to agree.
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[ The sandwich gets smooshed down a bit further, turning from Orlesian-style to Antivan-style. ]
But if you are ready - then I shall scold you heartily for the impulse.
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I'm,
[ ready? No. Not the way he likes to be ready, variables accounted for and head clear. But as ready as he's going to get. And there is still Nadine, far away in Gwaren—no quick jaunt, that—and a time approaching when Byerly will have to decide whether or not to stall, too. ]
Could you get away this week? We would have to come back before Monsieur L'Euilled Ouebbre's scribes arrive—we cannot miss them.
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[ What pleasure it is to have that liberty. He can say that - doesn't have to hem or haw or think about compromises. He does not matter like he used to; he can get away this week. ]
We shall ensure we're not overstaying our welcome; that's all.
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We could leave in the morning.
[ He leans his shoulder in against By's and looks at him sidelong. ]
If you don't mind horseback. If you want a wagon, we can find out when one is going.
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How long will the ride be?
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[ Is that reasonable for the distance on the map. What is the scale of the map. If it took Hawke two weeks to sail from Gwaren to Kirkwall then the maximum possible distance between those points would be like 1,400 miles at most. That would mean Ferelden is similar in height to the continental United States (on average not the high and low points). And in that case the distance between Kirkwall and where we stuck Kaiten is probably not a two day journey. But that’s also assuming the sailing journey was easy and the ship was that fast. Maybe Ferelden is actually the length of Great Britain. I don’t know. Don’t look at me. ]
You could ride with me. Side saddle. In my arms. Cradled the whole way.
[ Regardless of the distance, this is a joke. He would not make his poor little horse carry two adult men all the way up into the mountains. ]