[ She reaches for his hand again, in the hopes of holding it, stroking his fingers with her thumb ]
It is that… if Lord Odin lives and has not remarried, if Lord Thor lives and has not married… widow or wife, I am the only Lady of House Asgard. There was a long time I did not think it could be mine, but… to keep a home, to care for a land and a people. It is the life I was born to, the life I have always wanted.
A life with you beyond this war means more than choosing you. It means choosing Ferelden, for you will not leave your duty any more than I will leave mine.
You tried to tell me so, years ago, but I would not let you. I could understand nothing but the agony of wanting you.
[ That's all he can say with regards to that. Because it does cause him pain. Because if they weren't together, it would cause only a dull ache, instead of real agony. The knowledge she's lost, instead of the dread of losing her. ]
[ Alexandrie’s breath shudders at the simple sound, the way he looks. ]
I thought—
Do—
[ Her face crumples preemptively, one tear forming and falling too fast for her to blink it away. When she speaks is hushed, not trusting her voice to work if she speaks any louder. ]
Do you still want me, for all of the time we have?
[ The answer is, surely, clear enough. He's still with her, isn't he? Through all the agony that twists him into an unhappy, pained, limping creature. Through all his...incompetence, through all his worthlessness, through all his silent lumbering awkward wretchedness. He's still here. ]
I - Yes.
[ The confession is painful. Why is it painful? What's wrong with him? In his frustration and unhappiness, he lashes out just a little: ]
I just wish you were planning to go off with someone more worthy of you.
[ She has pulled a handkerchief from somewhere and covered her face, shoulders shaking slightly with the effort of containing herself. The sudden terror, sudden surety of his loss, the wretched relief when the blow she had braced for did not come.
Muffled slightly by it: ]
I do not want to talk of him. Or some future that may be years away, one I may not even see.
[ A muffled groan at his continuation of the topic. Even so she sniffs emphatically, dabs at her eyes, and reappears from behind the handkerchief to rather thickly ask ]
Do you want to talk of him? Or do you want to eat strawberries and have coffee and hear that his being here does not mean I am leaving.
[ She is quiet then, for a time; hands and handkerchief lowering to her lap, her gaze following. She smooths it, straightens it, both slowly. Finally she looks up at him again, doleful. Speaks softly. ]
I feel as if you ask for reassurance, but as if I cannot give it without it meaning you are hurt or you believing I am foolish. Taken in by a man that I would surely know for monster if I could see aright.
[ He shakes his head. Draws breath, hesitates, then draws breath again and says - ]
You must understand that - The thought of losing you, of the end of it, is - It would be one thing if I felt that I were giving you over to safety and joy.
She hesitates, then slowly rises so she can move to him and sit on his knee. So she can touch the side of his face. ]
Distant need not mean lost.
I will not stop loving you, and there are boats in the world and any number of reasons I might use to take them south.
[ She lets her hand fall into her lap. Looks down at it, then back at Byerly. ]
There was a time I could have told you yes; I will be safe, well taken care of. Loved beyond measure. A mother, perhaps, with two little boys.
[ But they are gone, too, if her husband is. Dreams only. A ward perhaps, someday— war makes as many orphans as it does widows— but Alexandrie will have no children of her own. She will not bear for one she does not love, and the men she loves who live will not— or cannot— be sires.
Her nostrils flare slightly, breath fluttering from them as her eyes shine wetly. ]
I forget sometimes when I speak. That it is not him. It is so easy to forget. I remember over and over and—
[ Alexandrie was not built to hold this any more than she was built to hold the brutality of court. For all her skill at complexities, in her heart she is a simple thing: she loves and wants to be loved, holds and wants to be held. She likes the sun and the water, birds and wind, stories and flowers and stars, and everything she feels fills her body to the brim where it overflows in laughter, kisses, tears.
Tears, now. Slow and quiet. ]
And so I do not know, any longer. I know only that I am tired of war and I would like to paint the trees.
[ He closes his eyes. He's quiet. Finally, slowly, he says - ]
And the only thing that I know is that I don't - Is that I want to make you all right. With every ounce of my energy, I just want to make certain that you're all right.
[ A plaintive spread of his hands. And he says, apologetically - ]
I was not, honestly, displeased. When he absconded. And I am sorry to say such a thing, but...It made me feel steadier about your future, to have him gone.
[ There is a time she would have flown into a rage; self-righteous, defensive, accusatory. Bright and fierce and vicious, hot enough to parch her tears and consume the very air. Words chosen and sharpened to wound in retribution.
Now she only freezes for a moment. Looks away sharply. Loses her softness, stops breath, becomes a sculpture of herself. Listens to the words that spring into her throat—
How dare you speak of him so, you have never cared to understand— What security do you think you could offer me— A fine thing, to feel steadier about a future in which I am unhappy—
— and says none of them. Closes her eyes instead, and tries to breathe past the knife so casually buried in her back in the name of caring for her.
Finally she manages, although she does not look and becomes no softer. ]
He did not abscond, and his presence was an anchor of surety in my life such as I had never known. His loss has ripped every vestige of security I had come to believe in from me, and has spilled over the entirety of my life such that I trust in nothing.
Why is it you think I cannot bear to see you with Bastien, why I am forever begging for reassurances, why I am so desperate to believe you need me and yet nothing is enough?
[ She looks at her hands and shakes her head. Murmurs: ]
You would not wish this on me if you knew what having him had been.
[ This time there is heat, a force that sends Alexandrie to her feet and forward to grip a shelf at the wall. ]
He saved Colin’s life at the risk of his own. He wept when all his desperate art could not save his mother’s. He ignored his own exhaustion to heal the blisters on my feet each night we walked back to Kirkwall from Minrathous. He taught me everything he knew of combat so I could protect myself when he could not. Held me through every fear, kissed me like I was a miracle.
[ Her shoulders are hunched tightly, her fingers flexing into the wood. ]
Bastien is kind, yes. But he also cultivated the show of his kindness as a tool. A weapon. He is a Bard, Byerly. As much as he has shown the true kindness in his heart to you— perhaps to me, perhaps to a few others— he has shown a carefully crafted kindness to win secrets, to keep others at a distance and leave them unsuspecting.
If my husband had chosen kindness as his blade perhaps you would have thought him kind. He did not, and you have never looked past what he made of himself to survive the world he was born to. You never cared to look, and you have never trusted me.
[ A shake of her head, as if she could throw off the passion that grips her. ]
Do not dare think you know him better than I. There are none yet living on this earth who know him better than I.
[ Her shoulders slump, then, and rather than gripping the shelf her fingers seem to barely hold up the droop of her arms.
Softly: ]
Do you truly hold my heart in such poor regard that you find it more in order to speak him ill than comfort me? Knowing I grieve him?
This is what you mean, by wishing to make certain with every ounce of your energy that I am all right?
[ Alexandrie’s head lowers, and she shakes it slow and weary. ]
If any were to talk of you this way because they knew you only as the scoundrel you affect rather than the man I know you to be whilst I thought you lost and mourned you I would speak for you the same.
I respect your grief, Lexie. And I am sorry for your loss. [ His jaw is stubborn. ] But I am not going to be swayed to blessing this new Rifter just because you're in sorrow over the loss of his mirror image.
[ Then he looks away, and presses his hand to the desk, and says: ]
If any man were to speak of me this way - and knew you well enough to be speaking from true care, instead of from some smug pandering - And were speaking from fear of some shadow of me that had sauntered out of the cold - Then so be it. I have the reputation of a scoundrel. I have the heart of one. Let someone who cares for you despise me, if they do it truly.
[ She straightens slowly, wraps her arms around herself. ]
I do not know that you know me anymore, Byerly. And I do not think you love me as you love him. Bastien.
[ Another slow shake of her head. ]
You are so warm to him. Kind. You hold his heart in careful hands, are so mindful of the slightest of what pains him. If he were to doubt, to fear, I think you would comfort him, but me…
You speak of true care for me, but… I do not think you will do these things for me now. I think you will think me difficult. Unreasonable. I think—
[ A pause, while she breathes. ]
I think I am going to bed; and I think you would stop him, reach for him, but I think you will not for me.
[ Rather numbly she realizes it’s too late for the ferry. ]
[ He wants to snap at that. Wants to bristle. As soon as he dares to critique her precious husband, this is how she turns. For herself? No; she'll not use such strong language for herself. But as soon as he is harsh towards Loki, it's I think you don't love me. I think you don't know me.
He supposes she'll pull away easily, now. Now that there's a more attractive option to run to. Before, she clung to him so tightly - but only, as he discovered, because her husband was gone. Not because she chose him. He was the man she could abandon and humiliate - but ah, Loki melted her heart as Byerly never could. ]
Please don't. Please stay with me.
[ He feels sick. He wants to get drunk very, very badly. ]
[ She is ready to hear nothing. Nothing, or an irritated snap at her dramatics.
But it isn’t those things.
So she stops, swaying a little, having what she wanted and not sure what to do with it. Stands there for a long moment, then slowly sinks to the ground under the weight of everything. The long days and nights for her, for Byerly; the stress and fear of the war; the fracturing of her months of denial and the void of grief beneath it that she is lost in all alone with no others who will mourn; the quick and vicious ricochet back and forth between that grief and the elation of seeing, hearing, holding, kissing what seems returned to her, a man every part of her yearns towards; the way she cannot help but fall and the confusion of not knowing how much is real and how much is the displaced echo of another love; the way she feels set aside, how it seems to go unacknowledged, and how she isn’t convinced she shouldn’t be.
Alexandrie’s skirts pool around her on the floor, her hands settle in her lap, she is too tired to do anything but bow her head and let the tears born of her overwhelm roll down in silence as they may… but she has stayed. ]
[ He thinks maybe he wanted her to storm out. Then he could have nursed his anger and resentment and felt properly injured, properly done wrong by. But now - Now he has to deal with this mess. Has to find the right words to repair this thing. Again.
He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. ]
I am trying to be - honest. And true. And what I feel, honest and truly, is that I am afraid for you if you go to this man, far more than I would be if you went to another. And maybe you're right, that it's my fault for not knowing him, but the only face the man shows is that of - of the sort of man who'd hold other souls in bondage. Can you not understand my fear, at least in part?
Worse, now she can't tell whom they were talking about.
Soft and somewhat strained: ]
Whom. 'This man' the man I married? Or the one who bears his name and looks as kin to him as I to Geneviève and has inherited my good and your bad graces as a result.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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I hope you are not saying that living in Ferelden would be as intolerable to you as living in Tevinter would be to others.
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[ She reaches for his hand again, in the hopes of holding it, stroking his fingers with her thumb ]
It is that… if Lord Odin lives and has not remarried, if Lord Thor lives and has not married… widow or wife, I am the only Lady of House Asgard. There was a long time I did not think it could be mine, but… to keep a home, to care for a land and a people. It is the life I was born to, the life I have always wanted.
A life with you beyond this war means more than choosing you. It means choosing Ferelden, for you will not leave your duty any more than I will leave mine.
You tried to tell me so, years ago, but I would not let you. I could understand nothing but the agony of wanting you.
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Yes.
[ That's all he can say with regards to that. Because it does cause him pain. Because if they weren't together, it would cause only a dull ache, instead of real agony. The knowledge she's lost, instead of the dread of losing her. ]
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I thought—
Do—
[ Her face crumples preemptively, one tear forming and falling too fast for her to blink it away. When she speaks is hushed, not trusting her voice to work if she speaks any louder. ]
Do you still want me, for all of the time we have?
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I - Yes.
[ The confession is painful. Why is it painful? What's wrong with him? In his frustration and unhappiness, he lashes out just a little: ]
I just wish you were planning to go off with someone more worthy of you.
no subject
Muffled slightly by it: ]
I do not want to talk of him. Or some future that may be years away, one I may not even see.
[ A little hiccup of a sob, and then ]
I love you.
no subject
[ That's a little easier. ]
But I don't trust him. That he will be as you deserve.
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[ A muffled groan at his continuation of the topic. Even so she sniffs emphatically, dabs at her eyes, and reappears from behind the handkerchief to rather thickly ask ]
Do you want to talk of him? Or do you want to eat strawberries and have coffee and hear that his being here does not mean I am leaving.
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I just want you to be safe and well.
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I feel as if you ask for reassurance, but as if I cannot give it without it meaning you are hurt or you believing I am foolish. Taken in by a man that I would surely know for monster if I could see aright.
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You must understand that - The thought of losing you, of the end of it, is - It would be one thing if I felt that I were giving you over to safety and joy.
no subject
So he does think of her, a little, as his.
She hesitates, then slowly rises so she can move to him and sit on his knee. So she can touch the side of his face. ]
Distant need not mean lost.
I will not stop loving you, and there are boats in the world and any number of reasons I might use to take them south.
[ She lets her hand fall into her lap. Looks down at it, then back at Byerly. ]
There was a time I could have told you yes; I will be safe, well taken care of. Loved beyond measure. A mother, perhaps, with two little boys.
[ But they are gone, too, if her husband is. Dreams only. A ward perhaps, someday— war makes as many orphans as it does widows— but Alexandrie will have no children of her own. She will not bear for one she does not love, and the men she loves who live will not— or cannot— be sires.
Her nostrils flare slightly, breath fluttering from them as her eyes shine wetly. ]
I forget sometimes when I speak. That it is not him. It is so easy to forget. I remember over and over and—
[ Alexandrie was not built to hold this any more than she was built to hold the brutality of court. For all her skill at complexities, in her heart she is a simple thing: she loves and wants to be loved, holds and wants to be held. She likes the sun and the water, birds and wind, stories and flowers and stars, and everything she feels fills her body to the brim where it overflows in laughter, kisses, tears.
Tears, now. Slow and quiet. ]
And so I do not know, any longer. I know only that I am tired of war and I would like to paint the trees.
And that I love you.
no subject
And the only thing that I know is that I don't - Is that I want to make you all right. With every ounce of my energy, I just want to make certain that you're all right.
[ A plaintive spread of his hands. And he says, apologetically - ]
I was not, honestly, displeased. When he absconded. And I am sorry to say such a thing, but...It made me feel steadier about your future, to have him gone.
no subject
Now she only freezes for a moment. Looks away sharply. Loses her softness, stops breath, becomes a sculpture of herself. Listens to the words that spring into her throat—
How dare you speak of him so, you have never cared to understand—
What security do you think you could offer me—
A fine thing, to feel steadier about a future in which I am unhappy—
— and says none of them. Closes her eyes instead, and tries to breathe past the knife so casually buried in her back in the name of caring for her.
Finally she manages, although she does not look and becomes no softer. ]
He did not abscond, and his presence was an anchor of surety in my life such as I had never known. His loss has ripped every vestige of security I had come to believe in from me, and has spilled over the entirety of my life such that I trust in nothing.
Why is it you think I cannot bear to see you with Bastien, why I am forever begging for reassurances, why I am so desperate to believe you need me and yet nothing is enough?
[ She looks at her hands and shakes her head. Murmurs: ]
You would not wish this on me if you knew what having him had been.
no subject
You know Bastien is a kind man. You've received kindnesses from him. I've never seen your husband show kindness to anyone.
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[ This time there is heat, a force that sends Alexandrie to her feet and forward to grip a shelf at the wall. ]
He saved Colin’s life at the risk of his own. He wept when all his desperate art could not save his mother’s. He ignored his own exhaustion to heal the blisters on my feet each night we walked back to Kirkwall from Minrathous. He taught me everything he knew of combat so I could protect myself when he could not. Held me through every fear, kissed me like I was a miracle.
[ Her shoulders are hunched tightly, her fingers flexing into the wood. ]
Bastien is kind, yes. But he also cultivated the show of his kindness as a tool. A weapon. He is a Bard, Byerly. As much as he has shown the true kindness in his heart to you— perhaps to me, perhaps to a few others— he has shown a carefully crafted kindness to win secrets, to keep others at a distance and leave them unsuspecting.
If my husband had chosen kindness as his blade perhaps you would have thought him kind. He did not, and you have never looked past what he made of himself to survive the world he was born to. You never cared to look, and you have never trusted me.
[ A shake of her head, as if she could throw off the passion that grips her. ]
Do not dare think you know him better than I. There are none yet living on this earth who know him better than I.
no subject
Of course. What a sin on my part, and my part alone.
no subject
Softly: ]
Do you truly hold my heart in such poor regard that you find it more in order to speak him ill than comfort me? Knowing I grieve him?
This is what you mean, by wishing to make certain with every ounce of your energy that I am all right?
[ Alexandrie’s head lowers, and she shakes it slow and weary. ]
If any were to talk of you this way because they knew you only as the scoundrel you affect rather than the man I know you to be whilst I thought you lost and mourned you I would speak for you the same.
no subject
[ Then he looks away, and presses his hand to the desk, and says: ]
If any man were to speak of me this way - and knew you well enough to be speaking from true care, instead of from some smug pandering - And were speaking from fear of some shadow of me that had sauntered out of the cold - Then so be it. I have the reputation of a scoundrel. I have the heart of one. Let someone who cares for you despise me, if they do it truly.
no subject
[ She straightens slowly, wraps her arms around herself. ]
I do not know that you know me anymore, Byerly. And I do not think you love me as you love him. Bastien.
[ Another slow shake of her head. ]
You are so warm to him. Kind. You hold his heart in careful hands, are so mindful of the slightest of what pains him. If he were to doubt, to fear, I think you would comfort him, but me…
You speak of true care for me, but… I do not think you will do these things for me now. I think you will think me difficult. Unreasonable. I think—
[ A pause, while she breathes. ]
I think I am going to bed; and I think you would stop him, reach for him, but I think you will not for me.
[ Rather numbly she realizes it’s too late for the ferry. ]
I will— find somewhere to stay.
no subject
He supposes she'll pull away easily, now. Now that there's a more attractive option to run to. Before, she clung to him so tightly - but only, as he discovered, because her husband was gone. Not because she chose him. He was the man she could abandon and humiliate - but ah, Loki melted her heart as Byerly never could. ]
Please don't. Please stay with me.
[ He feels sick. He wants to get drunk very, very badly. ]
no subject
But it isn’t those things.
So she stops, swaying a little, having what she wanted and not sure what to do with it. Stands there for a long moment, then slowly sinks to the ground under the weight of everything. The long days and nights for her, for Byerly; the stress and fear of the war; the fracturing of her months of denial and the void of grief beneath it that she is lost in all alone with no others who will mourn; the quick and vicious ricochet back and forth between that grief and the elation of seeing, hearing, holding, kissing what seems returned to her, a man every part of her yearns towards; the way she cannot help but fall and the confusion of not knowing how much is real and how much is the displaced echo of another love; the way she feels set aside, how it seems to go unacknowledged, and how she isn’t convinced she shouldn’t be.
Alexandrie’s skirts pool around her on the floor, her hands settle in her lap, she is too tired to do anything but bow her head and let the tears born of her overwhelm roll down in silence as they may… but she has stayed. ]
no subject
He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. ]
I am trying to be - honest. And true. And what I feel, honest and truly, is that I am afraid for you if you go to this man, far more than I would be if you went to another. And maybe you're right, that it's my fault for not knowing him, but the only face the man shows is that of - of the sort of man who'd hold other souls in bondage. Can you not understand my fear, at least in part?
no subject
Worse, now she can't tell whom they were talking about.
Soft and somewhat strained: ]
Whom. 'This man' the man I married? Or the one who bears his name and looks as kin to him as I to Geneviève and has inherited my good and your bad graces as a result.
no subject
Are you planning on separating the two, Lexie? Treating this one as a new man?
[ That silence on the crystal, the imagined private whispers between them, still ring in his ears. ]
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