Not for love. If you treated me that way I wouldn't have fallen for you in the first place.
[ This alternate reality doesn't deserve much contemplation. It's ridiculous. He extents a single finger to press the tip of By's nose up and give his skeptical expression a bit of a pig snout. ]
Maybe for some other reason, if I had one. Maybe if I were planning to kill you.
[ Bastien wiggles By's nose back before he drops his hand and shakes his head to register his protest: By isn't going to go mad. Bastien isn't going to kill him if he does. Even if it were somehow the only remaining option—someone else would have to do it.
But By's tone was light, so even as he's shaking his head to establish his disagreement with the premise, he says, ]
[ Bastien’s snappy and eager about pulling over their salt dish and sprinkling in a few pinches. There’s more finger-rubbing than necessary. He likes the feeling of the grains—like a little massage for his string-callused fingertips. ]
But you are never going to be wicked. Even if you went mad—even if someday when we are old you lose your faculties, it will the kind where you think your hat is a bird or you forget you put any clothes on before you go to the market.
[ He smiles easily. (This is not an easy topic for him. But this terror has been so public - an easy source of torment for any Fereldan who knows anything about his family and wants to get in a jab at Byerly - that he's polished and practiced with seeming comfortable. Even in front of Bastien.) ]
[ He lived in the sort of neighborhood where people who couldn’t care for themselves whose families couldn’t or wouldn’t care for them were likely to wind up. But he was a boy; he only saw slivers, and he didn’t always understand them. ]
And the Duc de Val Montaigne, the dead one. We were there for the last few months.
[ Byerly gets out some little green things to go atop the soup - tender little shoots to add some freshness and crunch. ]
Supposedly, the Alamarri ancestor who fought in the first Exalted March - Igor - killed his wife and children later on. Not all of the children, obviously, given my existence. But a few of them.
[ And the best cooks. Bastien sweeps up both bowls into his hands and carries them to the table, because carrying them means he gets to decide where they sit: next to each other, not across, and facing their window and its smudgy watercolor view of the street. ]
[ Bastien nods, matter of fact. Nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s looking out the window.
He blows on and swallows a spoonful of the soup. Makes a murmuring sound of approval. Thinks. ]
We should find out.
[ He looks at By, now. ]
We could start with your good cousin. Or your sister. Anyone. And if they don’t have answers, we can start working our way to the rotten core until we find them.
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Once he's removed his teeth, ]
You did have to convince us, though. We are like your Freemen—we might have gone to another lord.
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[ He smooths the fabric at By's shoulder where he bit it. ]
But you wouldn't have.
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Truly? You wouldn’t have just stuck it out?
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[ This alternate reality doesn't deserve much contemplation. It's ridiculous. He extents a single finger to press the tip of By's nose up and give his skeptical expression a bit of a pig snout. ]
Maybe for some other reason, if I had one. Maybe if I were planning to kill you.
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[ He wiggles his face so the tip of his nose moves around on Bastien’s fingertip. ]
I could still go mad at any time. Never forget that. I’d cordially request a cute little assassination then.
[ That’s said lightly, despite the grimness of the sentiment. ]
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But By's tone was light, so even as he's shaking his head to establish his disagreement with the premise, he says, ]
How would you like it done?
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[ He lifts a spoon to Bastien's lips as he says this, inviting him to try the soup and approve - or disapprove - of its taste. ]
Any other way would be pure foolishness.
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Maybe more salt? See what you think.
[ And, ]
Would you want to know that it's coming? Or to go to sleep thinking you'll wake up again?
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[ He tastes, hums, and says: ]
A bit more salt, yes.
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[ Bastien’s snappy and eager about pulling over their salt dish and sprinkling in a few pinches. There’s more finger-rubbing than necessary. He likes the feeling of the grains—like a little massage for his string-callused fingertips. ]
But you are never going to be wicked. Even if you went mad—even if someday when we are old you lose your faculties, it will the kind where you think your hat is a bird or you forget you put any clothes on before you go to the market.
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You sound so certain.
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[ It’s his turn now to offer the spoon and a taste of the saltier soup. ]
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[ He tastes it, then hums his approval. ]
A soup to make a Fereldan freeman weep.
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Here and there. A few when I was a boy.
[ He lived in the sort of neighborhood where people who couldn’t care for themselves whose families couldn’t or wouldn’t care for them were likely to wind up. But he was a boy; he only saw slivers, and he didn’t always understand them. ]
And the Duc de Val Montaigne, the dead one. We were there for the last few months.
[ Him and Inès and their ulterior motive. ]
Music calmed him down.
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[ The old man liked to throw things.
But clearly this isn’t really about the old man. Bastien fetches bowls, and he looks back to say, ]
How far back does it go? In your family.
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[ Byerly gets out some little green things to go atop the soup - tender little shoots to add some freshness and crunch. ]
Supposedly, the Alamarri ancestor who fought in the first Exalted March - Igor - killed his wife and children later on. Not all of the children, obviously, given my existence. But a few of them.
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[ And the best cooks. Bastien sweeps up both bowls into his hands and carries them to the table, because carrying them means he gets to decide where they sit: next to each other, not across, and facing their window and its smudgy watercolor view of the street. ]
And does it affect everyone? To a one?
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[ By follows with their little wooden spoons and settles down. He bumps Bastien's shoulder with his own as he sits. ]
And sometimes it's hard to know what's madness and what's simply people behaving badly because the reputation for madness gives them license.
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Shamelessness works just as well.
[ He angles his knee to rest against By's beneath the table. ]
What are the signs? The early ones. Are there any?
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Truthfully, I...don't quite know. I've never actually seen someone go mad before.
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He blows on and swallows a spoonful of the soup. Makes a murmuring sound of approval. Thinks. ]
We should find out.
[ He looks at By, now. ]
We could start with your good cousin. Or your sister. Anyone. And if they don’t have answers, we can start working our way to the rotten core until we find them.
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[ It's a slightly noncommittal noise. He fidgets just a bit with his spoon and looks out the window. ]
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