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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[coquettish_trees]

[ She is quiet as she finishes fixing the cups; adds a few strawberries to the side of the pastry and passes him both plate and coffee.

Without looking up: ]

Whose dream?

[bouchonne]

Your - husband's.

[ He doesn't like saying the words much. Clear enough from the way he hesitates over them. Embarrassing thing.

He takes the plate with a quiet noise of thanks. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ Alexandrie has never tried to understand what creates Rifters because Alexandrie has never had any reason to try to understand what creates Rifters. She has accepted what others know: that they are divergences from lives that continue in their own worlds, that sometimes they wake with new memories from those lives, that sometimes they leave and far more rarely return.

She has never heard about what makes them.

But if this is true, if her husband has dreamed this Loki into their world, then her husband is alive. ]

Did my husband dream the Provost as well? They know one another.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly offers a slight shrug of hesitant confirmation. ]

Your husband is a powerful mage. I would not be surprised if the Fade reacted particularly strongly to his dreaming.

[coquettish_trees]

[ Alexandrie looks hesitant as well, resistant even, because she does not want to think of this Loki as a dream made flesh— even if Byerly is right and that is what he is. Even if she cannot help but feel that she somehow pulled him from the Fade herself with her fretful yearning.

She will not be the one who tells him again that he is not what he believes himself to be. ]

I have... treated them always as if they were who they say they are.

[ She picks up a strawberry, then only holds it. ]

Does it not seem cruel to do else?

[bouchonne]

[ A shrug. ]

It's what we do with all people. Most people are deluded, in some way or another, about who they are or where they came from. It's part of the social contract that we don't point out that delusion.

[ Then - ]

I'm sorry. I thought you were acquainted with this theory.

[coquettish_trees]

[ Alexandrie shrugs in return, small and one-shouldered, and offers a crooked little smile. ]

I spend as few moments as possible engaged in theoretical discussions that ultimately have little bearing on how I choose to live my life.

[ The strawberry goes on her own little plate, and is left to wait there while she goes to pull a chair around to sit beside him. ]

It very rarely matters to me why things are as they are. It is important only whether or not they are.

[bouchonne]

A wise way to live.

[ He's being cautious. He bites into that strawberry, though, with careful pleasure. ]

[coquettish_trees]

Not always.

[ The little smile turns wryly self-aware. ]

It sometimes makes a reckless child of me, such that it does not matter why I cannot have something, it only matters that it is being kept from me. I lay siege upon the walls of 'cannot' and 'should not' and pound them until either they or I am broken, and it hurts.

And if I break them, there will later be a time I am forced to understand why the walls were built, and both myself and those who relied upon them for protection are hurt then too.

[ Retrieving the strawberry from her plate, she turns it in her fingers again, muses: ]

But strawberries are sweeter on the tongue than in the mind; the clouds and waves and the curving branches of trees are forever beautiful as I let them keep their mystery, and when I love it is with wild abandon. My heart is in my mouth for every kiss.

[ Still wry, her smile; but now, as she looks at him, it is a fragile thing as well. ]

Although I have learned that can also hurt.

[bouchonne]

Mm.

[ He looks down and away, a little uncertain smile on his lips. He doesn't want to agree with her. That'd be unkind, especially at this moment. Instead: ]

I've had plenty of disappointing strawberries.

[coquettish_trees]

[ Noncommittal little sentences he won’t look at her for, smiles that aren’t quite. He’s full of something that isn’t making it into words.

She waits a little, stirs cream into her coffee, and then looks at him. ]

What worries you?

[bouchonne]

[ He gives a little shake of his head. ]

My worries - don't matter, Lexie. This is -

[ Your crisis. But, after a moment, he lets out a breath and says, painfully, aware of the wretchedness of this sentiment: ]

You came to me only in your husband's absence. His presence - or the presence of some form of him - will...cause changes, I should think.

[coquettish_trees]

You may recall I made attempt whilst he was still here.

Perhaps you did not see it as such; but I did.

[ An old saw, but Alexandrie will take it to her pyre.

She stirs her coffee again, more to gather her thoughts than to attend to its mixing. Breathes. ]

They are the same in all the ways that made me love him, and so I will. Perhaps they are the same in all the ways that made him love me, and so perhaps he will.

I cannot say there will not be change. But—

I do not think it will be bad. I think I will be calmer, will stop making both of us wretched with my swinging back and forth betwixt trying to drag everything I need from you— including what you have said is a danger to you— and trying to convince myself I do not need what I do.

[ Stir.

More softly: ]

There are things Bastien gives you that I cannot. I think when I, too, have someone else to love me I will be less envious of the ways in which you love him that are not mine to have.

[bouchonne]

[ He doesn't look up. Just stirs his coffee. ]

And if he decides to go. Will you abandon me for him?

[ That keen, painful fear that lives always in his heart. That knowledge that they're finite. That in time, she'll choose someone else. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ A pause, and then gently: ]

Look at me.

[bouchonne]

I'm sorry.

[ He apologizes at once, forcing his gaze up to meet hers. ]

That question is - unfair. Unkind. There is no...abandoning going on. I am sorry.

[coquettish_trees]

[ She is smiling sadly, and the same soft sorrow is in her eyes. ]

Unfair is not unfeared. It…

[ A pause, while she briefly adjusts one of her strawberries. ]

If Rifters are dreams born of the instability of the Fade, once we have won this war… there is no guarantee the defeat of Corypheus will not mean the disappearance of them all.

But even then… do you wish to spend your days in rebuilding and bringing peace and order to a land you have no love for? To take residence at an estate in Marnas Pell and tour land to hear complaints and judge disputes?

[bouchonne]

[ Rather stiffly: ]

I hope you are not saying that living in Ferelden would be as intolerable to you as living in Tevinter would be to others.

[coquettish_trees]

No, I am not.

[ 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.

[bouchonne]

[ A small shrug. ]

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. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ 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?

[bouchonne]

[ 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.

[coquettish_trees]

[ 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 little hiccup of a sob, and then ]

I love you.

[bouchonne]

I love you, too.

[ That's a little easier. ]

But I don't trust him. That he will be as you deserve.

[coquettish_trees]

Byerly.

[ 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.