[ He gives a mock ooooh of pain as Bastien nips at him, and shakes out his hand. As he does, he reflects that it's odd he didn't know this before. Why didn't he know this before? Bastien certainly didn't tell him, he's certain of that. Why not? For a moment, his mind leaps to scandalous possibilities - a family of brigands, on the run from Marcher law...
But - no. Bastien hides his name, too, and Byerly is nearly certain that there's no ring of the mythic or the wicked to that name. If By dug, he wouldn't uncover the secret history of a blood mage, or a god cloaked in mortal form. Sometimes, there doesn't really need to be a reason. Sometimes, you just don't want to be yourself. Especially not when you were once a child who slipped in Orlesian words when you didn't know the Trade - or vice versa - who got knocked down by the village kids for being different. And especially when you didn't have the privilege of noble blood protecting you from kicks following that knock-down.
They're different people, he and Bastien. Byerly trumpets all the ways in which he's despicable and low and hatable, taunts others with them. Maybe Bastien hides the things that have hurt him. Probably a safer strategy in the long run. ]
As it is my right to rise up to resist you, tyrant. [ His voice is light and amused, as unconcerned as if Bastien had said my parents were both left-handed. ] Which part of the Marches did they come from? If they ever told you.
[ Bastien smiles. It’s an odd sort of relief, the kind that’s mixed with the disappointment of feeling a bit silly, like searching with increasing panic for a key and finding it in your own pocket. But it’s still a relief, and the kiss he presses into Byerly’s hair is a silent merci. ]
Kaiten.
[ Not even one of the big important ones. It doesn’t make it onto most maps. It isn’t all that far from Kirkwall, though. ]
Don’t tell anyone. [ Goes without saying, perhaps. ] Except, you know, if it is a matter of Fereldan security, that is fine. Or if you would like to make fun of me behind my back with Yseult. She knows. I was betrayed by one of those spirits in the Crossroads. Yours was much cuter than mine.
Well, I'm much cuter than you, so that makes sense.
[ The corner of his lip quirks up. ]
I was betrayed by a spirit to Yseult, as well. Much earlier. When there were hallucinations of people we'd known. I was followed around by my spymaster, and she looked up and said, say, I know that fellow. Do you suppose that, secretly, Yseult is some sort of maleficar?
[ It's nice. A little secret, capably negotiated. Bastien is so guarded - he knows so much less of Bastien than Bastien knows of him. So each piece feels precious, and every time a secret is told safely it's a relief. ]
[ Bastien wobbles his head in an agreeable way at the first part, then laughs at the second. ]
She is the last person anyone would suspect of it, so perhaps that means she should be the first person we suspect. You know, I still have no idea who she works for? It could be a shadowy cabal of mages.
[ His snickering fades out, rather than stopping abruptly, but then he's quiet for a moment before he says, ]
A little pack of them. It wasn't like you and your sister, though. I had my first job when I was seven, and then... Sometimes, when the weather was good, I would not see them for weeks. Our mother, the walls, our father, the cobblestones.
[ Sing-song, not quite singing, and it sounds better in Orlesian. Notre mère, les murs, notre père, les pavés A line from a song about cheerfully tragic orphans. Pay no attention to the parents behind the curtain. ]
How old was your sister, the last time you saw her?
[ Bastien leans his cheek against Byerly’s head. ]
Or just having a look and not talking to her. Highever is not so far. [ He uses his free hand to draw a slightly angled line from an invisible Kirkwall to a spot beneath it, across the sea. ] I am learning the map, see?
[ He lets that word out in a breath, so that it's little noisier than a little sigh. ] There's a war on, you know. Hardly time for personal pursuits.
[ But it's Bastien. And so he gives something closer to a true reason. ] I didn't at first because it was a matter of reputation. That concern is past, now, I suppose, since she's married. Has children. I can't spoil her prospects now. But - I don't know. What would there be to say? What would we discuss? [ A hesitation, and then he asks, most softly of all: ] What if she doesn't want to leave her children alone with me?
[ Which may seem an odd question. But it's his deepest fear of all. What if she'd come to believe the slander? All he had, all those years, that kept him going what the memory of her belief in him. If that's disappeared - Well. ]
[ The first hesitations aren't trivial. Bastien's thought something similar, contemplating the possibility of checking Kaiten for familiar faces. But the last one, after the moment required to understand the reason for it, feels like a bruise spreading under his collarbone. ]
Then...
[ He can't insult Byerly's sister. And he can't promise it wouldn't happen, because what if it did? Time does funny things to memories. ]
...she would need more time to get to know you again, to see how foolish that is. But I think she would see.
[ Obvious. He's just getting warmed up, while he rubs his cheek against Byerly's hair as if to get more comfortable on a pillow. ]
Even if you weren't kind and funny and clever, you would be someone she could talk to without having to start at the beginning. Someone who remembers her childhood. It doesn't sound like your parents will be telling her children any stories about the sweet things she did as a girl. And she would have an ally if your family is ever a problem for her. If anything is at all.
[ They might die before the war is over, and so on. But perhaps later is better than never, and Byerly is right that haring off on a personal errand might be hard to justify, especially for a division head. If Hightown is ever on the way somewhere, maybe Bastien will nudge, but for now he just gives Byerly's shoulders a quick, satisfied squeeze. ]
If you do go, and you want company, I could go with you. To Highever, I mean. Not to call on your sister. You could leave me in a comfortable in with a stack of books.
[ The innocence is transparently, playfully fake—though he does think of Yseult, saying she'd worried once that she'd manipulated Darras like a mark. Saying he laughed when she said so. ]
Coming from a man who has multiple bards tripping over themselves to be able to kiss him? What a compliment.
[ A laugh. Maker, though, that is a strange way to think about it, isn't it? As if this were his accomplishment, and not just the oddest of circumstances for everyone involved. ]
Hm, true enough. I suppose the secret was to get you both early, when you were still relatively new to the game. I planted the seeds, waited a decade, and then...
And then you started the war, to draw us all together again. How clever.
[ He twists his played-with fingers to catch Byerly's, to fight back, and—like shoving someone who's hemming and hawing at the edge of a pier into the water—uses that both of you to shove the question out of his mouth. ]
Can I ask you something sort of silly? And then can we pretend I didn't, because I'm very self-assured and collected?
[ Bastien doesn't ask those sorts of things often, but when he does, it makes Byerly feel quite foolish and silly himself, and warm, like he's taken a big sip of brandy. He bites down a smile, then lifts his eyebrows and says - ]
A moment -
[ And then he mimes uncorking a little vial and fake-pouring it into a fake wineglass, which he then pretends to drain. ]
Ahh. A memory potion, so that I will immediately forget what we're about to discuss.
[ While Byerly mimes and then explains, Bastien’s face shifts from confused curiosity to a wide smile, and then his laugh is quiet but chest-deep. At least he’s not being silly alone.
Though it’s a somewhat different flavor of silliness: ]
When you said, before—when you said you weren’t sure that your heart was strong enough for one person and—
[ —other things. But imaginary memory potion or not, he’d rather toss himself down the stairs than use the word love right now, even just to quote Byerly and speak hypothetically. ]
Is that still what you think? It’s all right if it is. I decided it was all right before I said yes. I just…
[ He shrugs the shoulder Byerly’s wrapped under. Very self-assured, very collected. ]
[ Ah. The smile fades at that. He looks away. There's a moment of silence as he struggles for words - not even the perfect words, just any words that aren't fucking awful.
Finally: ]
I - am not thinking about it, now. [ He takes a very slight breath. ] Not much, in any case. When I do, I mostly think, what the fuck are you doing, you're going to - [ Break his heart is another phrase that is not really fair game for being uttered now. Instead, he just trails off, and asks a question of his own: ] You'd tell me if I ever started being a monster to you, though. Wouldn't you? You wouldn't just accept it.
[ This he’ll accept, even if it comes with a flash of an ache. This isn’t Byerly being cruel, just Byerly being honest, and that’s what Bastien wanted. Steady footing. Now he knows what to do with the stray looks and turns of phrase that try to tempt him to think too much of them. ]
But you wouldn’t. And this is nice. I’m happy.
[ And he puts his hand over Byerly’s face, fingers splayed to cover as much of it as he can, and grins. ]
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But - no. Bastien hides his name, too, and Byerly is nearly certain that there's no ring of the mythic or the wicked to that name. If By dug, he wouldn't uncover the secret history of a blood mage, or a god cloaked in mortal form. Sometimes, there doesn't really need to be a reason. Sometimes, you just don't want to be yourself. Especially not when you were once a child who slipped in Orlesian words when you didn't know the Trade - or vice versa - who got knocked down by the village kids for being different. And especially when you didn't have the privilege of noble blood protecting you from kicks following that knock-down.
They're different people, he and Bastien. Byerly trumpets all the ways in which he's despicable and low and hatable, taunts others with them. Maybe Bastien hides the things that have hurt him. Probably a safer strategy in the long run. ]
As it is my right to rise up to resist you, tyrant. [ His voice is light and amused, as unconcerned as if Bastien had said my parents were both left-handed. ] Which part of the Marches did they come from? If they ever told you.
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Kaiten.
[ Not even one of the big important ones. It doesn’t make it onto most maps. It isn’t all that far from Kirkwall, though. ]
Don’t tell anyone. [ Goes without saying, perhaps. ] Except, you know, if it is a matter of Fereldan security, that is fine. Or if you would like to make fun of me behind my back with Yseult. She knows. I was betrayed by one of those spirits in the Crossroads. Yours was much cuter than mine.
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[ The corner of his lip quirks up. ]
I was betrayed by a spirit to Yseult, as well. Much earlier. When there were hallucinations of people we'd known. I was followed around by my spymaster, and she looked up and said, say, I know that fellow. Do you suppose that, secretly, Yseult is some sort of maleficar?
[ It's nice. A little secret, capably negotiated. Bastien is so guarded - he knows so much less of Bastien than Bastien knows of him. So each piece feels precious, and every time a secret is told safely it's a relief. ]
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She is the last person anyone would suspect of it, so perhaps that means she should be the first person we suspect. You know, I still have no idea who she works for? It could be a shadowy cabal of mages.
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[ He thinks about that often. He keeps his voice light and amused, though. ]
What if - hear me out - she's actually Corypheus?
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Has anyone ever seen them at the same time?
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[ He grins, utterly delighted by this bit of stupidity. ]
Well, we must make certain to please her, so that we are spared the wrath of the Elder One.
[ Then, easily: ]
Did you have siblings?
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A little pack of them. It wasn't like you and your sister, though. I had my first job when I was seven, and then... Sometimes, when the weather was good, I would not see them for weeks. Our mother, the walls, our father, the cobblestones.
[ Sing-song, not quite singing, and it sounds better in Orlesian. Notre mère, les murs, notre père, les pavés A line from a song about cheerfully tragic orphans. Pay no attention to the parents behind the curtain. ]
How old was your sister, the last time you saw her?
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[ His voice is a little quiet. A bit of honest melancholy creeping in. ]
That night I left - that was the last time.
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[ Bastien leans his cheek against Byerly’s head. ]
Or just having a look and not talking to her. Highever is not so far. [ He uses his free hand to draw a slightly angled line from an invisible Kirkwall to a spot beneath it, across the sea. ] I am learning the map, see?
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[ He lets that word out in a breath, so that it's little noisier than a little sigh. ] There's a war on, you know. Hardly time for personal pursuits.
[ But it's Bastien. And so he gives something closer to a true reason. ] I didn't at first because it was a matter of reputation. That concern is past, now, I suppose, since she's married. Has children. I can't spoil her prospects now. But - I don't know. What would there be to say? What would we discuss? [ A hesitation, and then he asks, most softly of all: ] What if she doesn't want to leave her children alone with me?
[ Which may seem an odd question. But it's his deepest fear of all. What if she'd come to believe the slander? All he had, all those years, that kept him going what the memory of her belief in him. If that's disappeared - Well. ]
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Then...
[ He can't insult Byerly's sister. And he can't promise it wouldn't happen, because what if it did? Time does funny things to memories. ]
...she would need more time to get to know you again, to see how foolish that is. But I think she would see.
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[ His voice is soft. ]
I don't know. What would she gain by it?
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[ Obvious. He's just getting warmed up, while he rubs his cheek against Byerly's hair as if to get more comfortable on a pillow. ]
Even if you weren't kind and funny and clever, you would be someone she could talk to without having to start at the beginning. Someone who remembers her childhood. It doesn't sound like your parents will be telling her children any stories about the sweet things she did as a girl. And she would have an ally if your family is ever a problem for her. If anything is at all.
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Your estimation of kind, funny, and clever is a bit too generous.
[ The rest of it, though - That is a good point. And so, he has to say: ]
Perhaps when the war is over. I suppose I have gotten enough prestige that she wouldn't be able to turn me away, if she were inclined to do so.
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If you do go, and you want company, I could go with you. To Highever, I mean. Not to call on your sister. You could leave me in a comfortable in with a stack of books.
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[ By picks up Bastien's hand, playing with his fingers. ]
I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but you have something of a talent for charming people.
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[ The innocence is transparently, playfully fake—though he does think of Yseult, saying she'd worried once that she'd manipulated Darras like a mark. Saying he laughed when she said so. ]
Coming from a man who has multiple bards tripping over themselves to be able to kiss him? What a compliment.
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Hm, true enough. I suppose the secret was to get you both early, when you were still relatively new to the game. I planted the seeds, waited a decade, and then...
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[ He twists his played-with fingers to catch Byerly's, to fight back, and—like shoving someone who's hemming and hawing at the edge of a pier into the water—uses that both of you to shove the question out of his mouth. ]
Can I ask you something sort of silly? And then can we pretend I didn't, because I'm very self-assured and collected?
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A moment -
[ And then he mimes uncorking a little vial and fake-pouring it into a fake wineglass, which he then pretends to drain. ]
Ahh. A memory potion, so that I will immediately forget what we're about to discuss.
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Though it’s a somewhat different flavor of silliness: ]
When you said, before—when you said you weren’t sure that your heart was strong enough for one person and—
[ —other things. But imaginary memory potion or not, he’d rather toss himself down the stairs than use the word love right now, even just to quote Byerly and speak hypothetically. ]
Is that still what you think? It’s all right if it is. I decided it was all right before I said yes. I just…
[ He shrugs the shoulder Byerly’s wrapped under. Very self-assured, very collected. ]
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Finally: ]
I - am not thinking about it, now. [ He takes a very slight breath. ] Not much, in any case. When I do, I mostly think, what the fuck are you doing, you're going to - [ Break his heart is another phrase that is not really fair game for being uttered now. Instead, he just trails off, and asks a question of his own: ] You'd tell me if I ever started being a monster to you, though. Wouldn't you? You wouldn't just accept it.
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[ This he’ll accept, even if it comes with a flash of an ache. This isn’t Byerly being cruel, just Byerly being honest, and that’s what Bastien wanted. Steady footing. Now he knows what to do with the stray looks and turns of phrase that try to tempt him to think too much of them. ]
But you wouldn’t. And this is nice. I’m happy.
[ And he puts his hand over Byerly’s face, fingers splayed to cover as much of it as he can, and grins. ]
Now forget.
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If you are happy, that's - a very important thing to me. Tell me when you're happy. Because that's what makes me happy, as well.
[ And then a little disgusted noise. ]
Maker, I sound like an idiot. What a poet.
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