contact part deux

[bouchonne]

if this were modern times byerly would probably make you listen to total eclipse of the heart before you were able to leave a message

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[cozen]

[ With an obliging switch to the language in question: ]

Three reasons. It is also more melodious and the language of the Maker.

[ But with nothing to feel sorry for, apparently, and more interest in this than in back-scratches, he does some further shifting and squirming as required to sit pressed side-to-side. ]

I have always marveled a little at how good your Orlesian is. Did she speak it with you a lot?

[bouchonne]

She spoke it with us exclusively. I spoke Orlesian before I spoke Trade.

[ By grabs Bastien's wrist and positions it where it pleases him, physically draping his arm across By's shoulders. ]

Even now, it feels so much more correct to swear in Orlesian. Trade curses just don't have the same weight. Also, the Maker is a rotten bastard, as has been well-documented, so I don't think that's something to boast of.

[cozen]

A rotten bastard with high standards and great ear for music.

[ When his arm has been put where it’s wanted, he gives a little squeeze and traces circles on Byerly’s bicep with his thumb, without having to wonder if it’s welcome, which is another thing to marvel at. ]

Does your father speak it too? Or did you get to have a secret?

[bouchonne]

I never once heard him speaking it. Likely he knew some - it's the singular madness of Fereldan nobility, that one must detest the Orlesians but still aspire to their tongue and their fashion and their food - but not enough to converse.

[ He settles in against Bastien's side. ]

How long did it take you to learn Trade?

[cozen]

Not long.

[ Maybe he didn’t keep track. Maybe he absorbed it from the city’s bilingual traders and shopkeepers without paying attention. Maybe—

This is the problem with having people you don’t want to lie to. You have to tell them the truth.

So he makes a noise between a sigh and a groan, a wordless joke about his own reluctance, and says, ]

I spoke Trade first. My bardmaster had to tell everyone in the house to tackle me if they heard it come out of my mouth, for a while.

Don’t say you could have guessed. It will hurt my feelings.

[bouchonne]

[ By pats Bastien, like a reward for honesty - though it's a deliberately awful pat, all open hand on his face smacking him awkwardly. One cannot, of course, be too sincere with that sort of thing. ]

I most certainly could not have guessed. Did your mother not speak Orlesian?

[cozen]

[ Bastien laughs at the patting—and it’s odd, to genuinely laugh while balanced on the edge of what he used to be sure was a deep, dark secret. But maybe it isn’t. Yseult took it in stride. Of course, Yseult is unflappable even compared to him, and a Marcher herself. Maybe Byerly, who has never been Orlesian enough for Orlais or Fereldan enough for Ferelden, is in a better position to understand the knot this sort of thing might put in the pit of a young Royan’s stomach. And an old one’s.

Regardless, he’s laughing. He nips ineffectively at the finger closest to his mouth. And while he’s answering— ]

Neither of them did. They were Marchers.

[ —he realizes he isn’t really the least bit afraid of Byerly’s reaction. Even if there’s teasing, it wouldn’t be the sneering kind. ]

But I was born in Val Royeaux, so I still get to cackle and plot occupations. It is my birthright by soil.

[bouchonne]

[ 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.

[cozen]

[ 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.

[bouchonne]

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. ]

[cozen]

[ 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.

[bouchonne]

I don't, either.

[ He thinks about that often. He keeps his voice light and amused, though. ]

What if - hear me out - she's actually Corypheus?

[cozen]

[ Bastien laughs and then hums, as if it’s something worthy of consideration. ]

Has anyone ever seen them at the same time?

[bouchonne]

Proof! Proof positive.

[ 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?

[cozen]

[ 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?

[bouchonne]

Fifteen.

[ His voice is a little quiet. A bit of honest melancholy creeping in. ]

That night I left - that was the last time.

[cozen]

Do you ever think about visiting?

[ 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?

[bouchonne]

Maker.

[ 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. ]

[cozen]

[ 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.

[bouchonne]

Maybe.

[ His voice is soft. ]

I don't know. What would she gain by it?

[cozen]

You. A brother.

[ 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.

[bouchonne]

[ He gives a little dissatisfied grumble. ]

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.

[cozen]

[ 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.

[bouchonne]

I don't know. It might be a good idea to take you with me.

[ 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.

[cozen]

Me?

[ 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.