[ There's only a very, very brief flicker of paranoia, of all of this has been to entrap me - It flies quickly away, and By sighs and reaches out to play with those fingers on his knee. ]
There are others. Even some seeming ne'er-do-wells who move in the same circles as me. That was how I was recruited originally, you know - I stumbled back from Antiva, and fell in with a bad crowd. Only one of them wasn't actually as bad as he seemed to be. And he saw that I wasn't, either, and so he started giving me little tasks here and there, until I was a spy in all but name.
[ His voice sounds amused, and a little proud, rather than betrayed. ]
There's a full network focusing on domestic affairs. Nothing like what Orlais has. Certainly nothing like what the Chantry has. But for something crafted largely just in the reign of Queen Anora, it's not too bad.
[ Untaken roads don’t interest Bastien very much, once they’re behind him. Not fifteen waking minutes of his life have been cumulatively devoted to wondering what might have happened if he’d stayed with his family, if Vincent had said yes, if he’d never quit as a bard, if Byerly had stayed in Orlais—any of it. None of that happened. Who cares. The future is much more interesting.
But he gives a good fifteen seconds of thought to the thought of Byerly, good-hearted in a bad crowd, fresh from two heartbreaks and a murder, with his penchants for misery and drinking. Fifteen seconds imagining who he might have become if he hadn’t been offered something steady to turn his energy toward. That’s plenty for Bastien to decide he’s glad. ]
It sounds—well, you know. If I praise it too much they will come take away my antiroyalist card.
[ A joke. Mostly. Kind of. It isn’t only Byerly’s you’re mine that would make Bastien refuse even very good recruitment efforts. ]
But it sounds like a perfectly respectable arm of a reasonably benevolent government. [ That is sincere. ] And I am glad you were not out there alone.
[ He holds the fingers Byerly is playing with out flat over his leg. Piano keys. ]
Do you think it will be the same when you go back, after you have done all of this?
[ By doesn't play a chord. Instead, he interlaces his fingers with Bastien's and squeezes. He doesn't say it aloud, but in his mind is an echo of Bastien's words - Thank you for understanding. Because others, they've heard the cruelty and squalor of his work, and they've struggled to comprehend why he doesn't leave. But Bastien understands.
His tight grip releases a moment later, and he smiles, and goes back to playing idly. This time, it is a chord - major, minor, major again, the web of muscle between each knuckle serving as the black keys. ]
No. I was really quite dependent upon my reputation as a lout. I fear that's quite spoiled, now.
Ah, quelle tragédie, [ Bastien says, head lolling against By with badly-acted despair, though his arm stays still and rigid for that silent music. (At other, less talkative times, he's made a game of trying to hum the appropriate chords, but not now.) ] Years of sullying your reputation, really getting mud into every crevice—ruined.
[ He smiles up at the underside of By's chin. His stomach is better; his headache has retreated so far into a dull and distant ache that ignoring it takes no work at all. ]
Do you know what I would do, if I were the Queen of Ferelden?
You should tell Alexandrie about that one, if you haven't. Her accent will be more convincing than mine.
[ Among other more convincing things that he won't be explicitly mentioning, out of respect for her history and their privacy—even if she did try to suggest a threesome before Bastien had even said yes to Byerly—and the fact that, like he said, It's Complicated, platonically. But not out of jealousy. He's well past that. And not out of any need or desire to be told he would be a very good Sexy Queen of Somewhere Kind of Like Ferelden But With A Different Garbly Accent. He knows. ]
After I stepped on you, though, and, ah, saw that to its conclusion, I would give you a position. A public one, I mean. Maybe not ambassador to anywhere. That would tie your hands—not in a fun way. But an assistant or attache or something not quite so intimidating, so you could do some of this and some of that.
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There are others. Even some seeming ne'er-do-wells who move in the same circles as me. That was how I was recruited originally, you know - I stumbled back from Antiva, and fell in with a bad crowd. Only one of them wasn't actually as bad as he seemed to be. And he saw that I wasn't, either, and so he started giving me little tasks here and there, until I was a spy in all but name.
[ His voice sounds amused, and a little proud, rather than betrayed. ]
There's a full network focusing on domestic affairs. Nothing like what Orlais has. Certainly nothing like what the Chantry has. But for something crafted largely just in the reign of Queen Anora, it's not too bad.
no subject
But he gives a good fifteen seconds of thought to the thought of Byerly, good-hearted in a bad crowd, fresh from two heartbreaks and a murder, with his penchants for misery and drinking. Fifteen seconds imagining who he might have become if he hadn’t been offered something steady to turn his energy toward. That’s plenty for Bastien to decide he’s glad. ]
It sounds—well, you know. If I praise it too much they will come take away my antiroyalist card.
[ A joke. Mostly. Kind of. It isn’t only Byerly’s you’re mine that would make Bastien refuse even very good recruitment efforts. ]
But it sounds like a perfectly respectable arm of a reasonably benevolent government. [ That is sincere. ] And I am glad you were not out there alone.
[ He holds the fingers Byerly is playing with out flat over his leg. Piano keys. ]
Do you think it will be the same when you go back, after you have done all of this?
no subject
His tight grip releases a moment later, and he smiles, and goes back to playing idly. This time, it is a chord - major, minor, major again, the web of muscle between each knuckle serving as the black keys. ]
No. I was really quite dependent upon my reputation as a lout. I fear that's quite spoiled, now.
no subject
[ He smiles up at the underside of By's chin. His stomach is better; his headache has retreated so far into a dull and distant ache that ignoring it takes no work at all. ]
Do you know what I would do, if I were the Queen of Ferelden?
no subject
no subject
Oh, yes. First priority. In leather slippers with good heels—and fur lining, of course, for Ferelden.
no subject
You are a beautiful man.
no subject
[ Smug. Although, ]
You should tell Alexandrie about that one, if you haven't. Her accent will be more convincing than mine.
[ Among other more convincing things that he won't be explicitly mentioning, out of respect for her history and their privacy—even if she did try to suggest a threesome before Bastien had even said yes to Byerly—and the fact that, like he said, It's Complicated, platonically. But not out of jealousy. He's well past that. And not out of any need or desire to be told he would be a very good Sexy Queen of Somewhere Kind of Like Ferelden But With A Different Garbly Accent. He knows. ]
After I stepped on you, though, and, ah, saw that to its conclusion, I would give you a position. A public one, I mean. Maybe not ambassador to anywhere. That would tie your hands—not in a fun way. But an assistant or attache or something not quite so intimidating, so you could do some of this and some of that.