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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[bouchonne]

[ Byerly's lips thin. His gaze turns away. He hardens. ]

Of course. What a sin on my part, and my part alone.

[coquettish_trees]

[ 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.

[bouchonne]

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.

[coquettish_trees]

I do not—

[ 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.

[bouchonne]

[ 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. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ 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. ]

[bouchonne]

[ 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?

[coquettish_trees]

[ She can't tell whom they're talking about.

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.

[bouchonne]

[ He gives a small shake of his head. Then he looks at her, exhausted. ]

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. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ She is silent for a moment, and when she speaks again her voice cracks miserably. ]

I wish to. I have to. I am trying.

[bouchonne]

[ Another small shake of his head. ]

I meant what I said. If someone showed up wearing my face, with my mannerisms, I wouldn't want you to give him a single sliver of the love you gave me. But for the Maker's grace, I'd be a wretchedly evil man - and I wouldn't trust one of my nightmares to have any goodness in him.

[ And he rubs at his eyes again. ]

I abandoned you to the Court for how many years, and it warped you into becoming a woman you hated. If I have to abandon you again, I don't want you to turn into - [ A harsh breath out. ] Into the sort of person who thinks that what's done up there is - all right. I don't want you to trade your goodness for love.

[coquettish_trees]

[ And if he is not a nightmare? she wants to ask, If he is a dream of all he would be to me, if he were not so far from home? The love letter he cannot send?

He would not wish me lonely.

But she folds it up and keeps it for herself; it is a thing too fragile for the world. ]

I would give it even if you did not wish me to, if you were gone. I might wish to even were you here.

I cannot see even a mirror of you hurt, alone, and turn away. Perhaps, loved, he would recover. As I did. And you are so good I cannot think there is a you without a heart that would mourn whatever wickedness you must make to protect yourself.

[ She shakes her head a little. ]

I will still be kind, if I go. To work with them towards their freedom, as I do now. Any Tevinter I go to will be shattered after the war. It will be a good time for change there, Byerly. Perhaps the only time. And if House Asgard will acknowledge me, I will be in a position with some power to help guide such change.

[bouchonne]

[ He shakes his head bitterly. ]

If that mirror of me had a heart, let it serve only as a target for your dagger. Believe me. In my dreams, I am - not a good man.

[ But it doesn't matter. They're not here to debate his phantasmagorical self. Instead: ]

If your husband returns - or if you go to this man - I would like him to prove himself good first. In some way. [ He scratches uncomfortably at his desk. ] I don't think I typically ask overmuch of you, but I would like - for my heart - some reassurance of your safety. [ A breath out. ] I know you want me to just trust that he's a good man because you love him, but you love me, so.

[coquettish_trees]

[ Stubbornly: ]

And you are a good man.

[ She doesn’t stand, but at least she turns to look at him, the obstinacy replaced with soft appeal. ]

Try to know him? You need not be friends, but at the least…

It is different for him here. This is not his world. He has no standing to protect, those he was driven to prove himself to are gone. Everything is lost and there is nothing he can do to regain it; he has little need to be other than the man he is.

We are none of us perfect, none of us unscarred. We have all done somewhat we regret, and we have all been unused to friendship. To love. Have acted from that lack.

He tries to make his future different. Give him the chance to.

[bouchonne]

[ His look towards her is mingled uncertainty and exasperation. ]

I was not the only one who prevented friendship.

[coquettish_trees]

[ She shakes her head. ]

I do not accuse you of being such. I know well enough that my husband was neither a trusting nor forthcoming man, and that he little sought friendship. It is simpler, safer, to have enemies. Tevinter is as Orlais in that regard, and there is more death at the end of their games.

[ She folds her hands in her lap, sits a little straighter as she slowly collects the pieces of herself again. ]

Even with what little I know I do not think it will go the same with this Loki. Should he care for me I will ask of him the same I have asked of you.

[bouchonne]

[ A shrug of acquiescence. ]

That would be something. I don't require his kindness for myself, mind. I just need to know that - That he is a man of good intentions. That he would not - [ He hesitates, then comes up with a reasonably low bar: ] Take your blood for blood magic. At a minimum.

[coquettish_trees]

My—

[ A start, but she quickly thinks better of launching again into defense of the man she had married. Instead she closes her eyes and lowers her head for a moment with a sigh. ]

Find out for yourself, however it is you need to. I ask only that it is done in good faith.

[bouchonne]

[ He smiles bitterly. ]

Do you think I harbor intentions of bad faith?

[coquettish_trees]

Do you not already think him some nightmare of my husband’s from whom you must needs have proof he shall not draw my blood for some malefic purpose?

[bouchonne]

So you think I worry about those things because - what. I'm some petty, spiteful creature who hates your joy?

[coquettish_trees]

No.

[ Gently: ]

I think because you are worried about me and care for my joy that you will wish to protect it. Protect me. And that it will prompt you to seek first for dangers in him rather than good.

[bouchonne]

And that strikes you as bad faith?

[ It's a petty squabble. But words like that from her hurt disproportionately. ]

[coquettish_trees]

[ It's so hard. It's so hard to hear the way he hurts through the noise of her own, and there never seems to be anything to say that might be a salve for both. Seems the choice is always to let her hurts go unattended, or let his.

Alexandrie presses her fingertips delicately to the bridge of her nose, her eyelids, cupping her own face for a moment while she breathes so when she speaks it will be gentle rather than a snap, so when she lowers her hands again so she can look at him there will be nothing but a plea for understanding in her eyes. ]

Which do you have faith in? His good, or his bad?

[bouchonne]

I don't have any faith in him. One way or the other. He's unpredictable.

[ A stiff shake of his head. ]

But I do think that it's far better to anticipate danger rather than safety, as a rule. [ A rough breath. ] I should think you and I should know that better than most.