[What is he to say? 'I know better than you?' Here, in this world, where he’s so fresh in his footfalls and Byerly is not, between the two of them he can think well enough to know which of them makes the better advisor.
Yet his heart aches for it all the same.
His eyeline lowers, drawing away from tension into something thready and unreadable, lashes fitted over his eyes and maybe it is fortunate indeed that Byerly’s privileged enough to see his face, as it shows enough in tangent with that weary hum of a voice to promise his concession is not made lightly.]
Not in my experience.
[But few can say they’ve died for the guarantees of another, and fewer still can promise it would work again. He'd spent the whole of his breath and his luck on Lord Larsa already; Benedict might indeed fare poorer for it under similar circumstances. And so:]
But I’ve overstepped once more, it seems. You know the man better, and you’ve kept him in your shadow throughout, and I’ve no right to question either motive or means when the end result speaks for itself.
I disagree because I cannot help my own nature. I hope you’ll think no less of me for it.
[A pause, and then, righting his posture to harden back into its usual, iron-cast poise.]
I formally withdraw my protestation. Keep only my commendation for Lord Artemaeus’ work, and do with that knowledge what you will.
[Much as he knows Byerly dislikes the formality of lordship, he has to endure one last bow before that helmet is fitted in its rightful place.]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2021-04-25 08:02 pm (UTC)Yet his heart aches for it all the same.
His eyeline lowers, drawing away from tension into something thready and unreadable, lashes fitted over his eyes and maybe it is fortunate indeed that Byerly’s privileged enough to see his face, as it shows enough in tangent with that weary hum of a voice to promise his concession is not made lightly.]
Not in my experience.
[But few can say they’ve died for the guarantees of another, and fewer still can promise it would work again. He'd spent the whole of his breath and his luck on Lord Larsa already; Benedict might indeed fare poorer for it under similar circumstances. And so:]
But I’ve overstepped once more, it seems. You know the man better, and you’ve kept him in your shadow throughout, and I’ve no right to question either motive or means when the end result speaks for itself.
I disagree because I cannot help my own nature. I hope you’ll think no less of me for it.
[A pause, and then, righting his posture to harden back into its usual, iron-cast poise.]
I formally withdraw my protestation. Keep only my commendation for Lord Artemaeus’ work, and do with that knowledge what you will.
[Much as he knows Byerly dislikes the formality of lordship, he has to endure one last bow before that helmet is fitted in its rightful place.]
I bid you a fair evening, Byerly Rutyer.
...and thank you, for safeguarding him.