contact part deux

[bouchonne]

if this were modern times byerly would probably make you listen to total eclipse of the heart before you were able to leave a message

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[cozen]

[ No, but— ]

Would you like that? Maybe He's handsome.

[ Bastien leans against the column beside him, cheek squashing on stone. Byerly does cut a fine figure, wet and shirtless and moonlit, and somehow even a finer one when he's being sweet and effusive with his dog. ]

[bouchonne]

Yes, but I imagine He's handsome like that Ellis fellow. Handsome, but no fun at all.

[ And then, with a laugh - ]

Besides, I don't really think that's where I'll end up.

[cozen]

[ Bastien frowns. That second part is very important and all, he’s not going to forget it, but first of all, ]

I like Ellis. He gives me things to read.

[bouchonne]

[ Delightedly jeering: ]

Teacher's pet!

[cozen]

[ Bastien makes a face and a disgruntled noise of vague disagreement. ]

I was going to say the Maker will want you, right here—

[ He crooks his arm. It’s meant to suggest the Maker putting his arm around Byerly and keeping him snuggled right up to His Divine Hip, but the blanket cloak might make it hard to tell. ]

—but if you are going to be mean, then I don’t know.

[bouchonne]

I'm not being mean!

[ The delight persists as he gathers up Whiskey and brings her back under shelter. ]

I love that about you. It's cute.

[cozen]

[ Bastien can’t just drop his sulk in an instant. It’s a matter of pride. But it does begin to thaw. ]

You have to stop calling me cute, [ to find something else to hang that sulk on, while he crouches to pet the wet dog, ] when I’m forty.

Until then it’s fine.

[ Sober, he’d be more cautious about presuming out loud that Byerly will be calling him anything in three years. Or maybe he wouldn’t be anymore, after swallowing the sun.

In any case, he’s fully thawed by now. ]

Why don’t you think the Maker will take you? [ He takes a guess and argues with it unprompted: ] Andraste’s army—they must have hurt all kinds of people, for the cause.

[bouchonne]

Mm.

[ He smiles down at his feet, his expression strange in that way it gets. ]

I think it's fairly universally acknowledged that there are certain types of villainy that are more righteous than others. My work is slimy. No one likes slime.

[cozen]

I’m not sure I should be letting you talk about my lover that way.

[ Gentler than his pouting about Ellis, but not because he cares less. He cares more. He cares about what Byerly thinks—about himself and the world and what’s beyond it—too much to cover his mouth (metaphorically) and say I love you so shut up. Same reason he sounds more curious than argumentative as he goes on, scratching Whiskey’s neck and looking up at him and his strange expression. ]

You think what you do is worse than burning a village?

[bouchonne]

Well.

[ The strange little smile twitches a bit. ]

No. But I don't think there's necessarily a direct relationship between what's worse and what's more despised, eh? Just think of all the Chevaliers you know of. Dripping in glory.

[cozen]

Yes, but.

[ He gives Whiskey a hug around the neck before he stands up. ]

That’s glory from us. We’re stupid.

[bouchonne]

[ Whiskey, of course, proceeds to then lean against Bastien's leg. He is her favorite. ]

And the Maker is not, is the supposition? Perhaps not, but it is hard to argue that He is just.

[ And - ]

And a person shouldn't do this sort of thing because they're looking for some sort of treat in the afterlife.

[coquettish_trees]

My husband.

[ It's so evenly delivered that anyone unversed in Alexandrie might think her calm rather than slowly approaching the brittle border of hysteria. But she sits too properly, is too still, is far too serene for those words.

Byerly has seen it often enough. ]

[cozen]

I suppose.

[ Bastien looks a little befuddled. Byerly’s a smart drunk—he knew that, of course, but he’d always had his sneaky not-actually-drunk advantage helping him out.

He also looks a little afraid.

Then he wiggles his face free of it. (Literally. There’s nose wiggling.) What started this? Right— ]

You do this sort of thing to fix the world. [ He leans against By for the same reason Whiskey is leaning against him. ] And I think it matters even if you can’t.

[bouchonne]

[ By sees that fear. Doesn't really fully understand it. Is Bastien afraid of an unjust Maker? - Well, and rightly so. ]

I do this sort of thing because -

[ He strokes Bastien's hair, running his fingertips through it. ]

Everyone needs someone on their side. No one should ever go through life without anyone looking out for them. So even if it's quiet, even if they just think it was a good Fade spirit and never even notice the drunkard in the corner who was watching them and listening, it still matters. That good Fade spirit will bring them some joy. Everyone deserves that.

[cozen]

[ Bastien is afraid of the Void, on the rare occasion the thought of it feels real enough to be frightening, and if Byerly doesn't have hope for himself then there's certainly none for Bastien—

But he's already left the fear behind. He smiles, and he presses the smile into Byerly's shoulder while he nods. Byerly whose religion would be kindness and laughter, Byerly who loves the world too much to want the Maker's return, Byerly who thinks decency is more common than not—Bastien keeps those moments tucked somewhere safe in his chest. This one goes in with them. ]

Then it's not in vain, if that's all the good you do. It matters to someone.

I am sorry about the agony, though.

[bouchonne]

There are things that make it worth it.

[ He's quiet a moment, and then says, a bit of shyness breaking through that clinical precision that alcohol brings to him - ]

It's nice to be seen, you know. I didn't really know how much until you started looking at me.

[cozen]

[ Bastien leans back far enough to see the shyness on his face instead of only hearing it in his voice, because it’s sweet, and smiles. Outright beams, even, for a moment. ]

I think it’s easier for me, you know, to be genuine with people… sometimes… [ important qualifier ] when I know you have seen me and you want to keep looking. I hope I can be that for you.

[ That’s the selfless side of his love. Mixed with the prideful part, perhaps—the look what I have part—but mostly selfless, mostly the pure desire for Byerly to be known and appreciated.

And here’s the selfish one, confessed with self-aware amusement: ]

But I also want to sit on top of your secrets like a dragon.

[bouchonne]

[ That makes him laugh, fondly, reaching out to caress Bastien's cheek. ]

A brainy little dragon with well-stocked bookshelves, and perhaps a pair of glasses perched upon his scaly nose. And a tight arse.

[ A pinch to said arse, for good measure. ]

[cozen]

[ Still no jump reflex, even drunk. It's long long gone. But he laughs, while he takes Byerly's hand to hold. ]

It is pretty good, huh?

[ He bumps him with his hip before pulling him along for a walk. A walk toward the other tower, the one he lives in, even though it means leaving the cushions and shirts and open bottle on the floor upstairs. (He's not subtle about avoiding Byerly's room, especially after that morning in Wintermarch, but he's also not secretly even slightly miserable about it.) The rain is still gentle beyond their overhangs, Whiskey is still precious, and Bastien's getting tired and heavy but is still buzzy with affection. If he hadn't already decided to be stubborn about his given name, this would be the moment—but he has, and he's very good at not changing his mind once he's really made it up, so the impulse to give something to Byerly comes out instead as, ]

I'm going with you after the war. Did you already know that?

[bouchonne]

[ There's a twitch of his hand in Bastien's. A sign of surprise. And then - a squeeze, tight and warm. ]

I - didn't. When did you decide? [ Because he needs to make a little bit of a joke of it - ] You just want to stay with Whiskey.

[cozen]

Exactly. And honestly, I like stew. It has so many different parts, it cannot get boring. And Fereldans love me. Even the ones who hate Orlesians, they can’t hate me. I don’t know what it is.

[ Jokes. They’re wonderful things. Bastien’s mostly looking ahead, watching Whiskey trot ahead of them, but he keeps hold of By’s hand. ]

I have a whole list. [ Of reasons to go. Whiskey, stew, being probably universally adored by his neighbors, etc. ] I’ve been thinking about it for a while.

[bouchonne]

[ With a considerable dose of honesty, Byerly says: ] I think you've more in common with a Fereldan nobleman than you have with an Orlesian one. And certainly more in common with a Freeman than a Comte.

[ Then: ]

Do you want to tell me the list? Or do you want to give it to me bit by bit when my mood is sour.

[bouchonne]

Oh.

[ By's brows draw together. His fingers curl on the desktop. His chest tightens with some complicated emotion - some complicated knot of emotions that will draw tighter if he pulls on any thread - so that he forcibly turns his attention away from it, so he will not be tempted to pull. ]

Has...the Scoutmaster been notified? I assume so, if you're -

[ Sitting here, rather than heading up the search party personally. They must have some of the best people on the case, indeed, if Alexandrie is willing to sit still to wait for his recovery. ]

[coquettish_trees]

No.

[ Emphatic, with something of a frightened edge on it.

She takes a breath, closes her eyes. Opens them again when her heart stops beating strangely and she can manage some degree of calm. ]

My lord will change both form and colour as he must to obtain what he has gone after and he is better fit to get in and out of whatever trouble he makes or finds than any other Riftwatch has. He plays complicated games, and it is as like we would put him in danger as take him from it.

[ She looks at her hands, and they look like someone else's. Quietly: ]

I will not have him hunted as a traitor, and he would be. They would not say so, but he would be. There is no-one loves or trusts him here but me.