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]

[ Bastien notes the trouble, but it’s easily chalked up to the war, to the possibility that other Marcher cities might fall. ]

No, [ with an amused huff. ] No, they would all be grown by now. They probably have twenty children between them.

[ He’s never thought about that before. It’s hard to think about now—not painful, only difficult. If he tries to picture Eliya with a baby on her hip, her face is still a six year old’s. ]

And spouses, and in-laws, and work. [ Maybe they would still appreciate the invitation, to keep in their pockets in case things got worse, but then Bastien would have to, like, actually find them. Maybe talk to them. Terrifying.

He sways sideways to companionably jostle By with his shoulder. ]

No, we will just have to stop the war before it reaches that far. Should be easy.

[bouchonne]

No trouble at all.

[ All grown up by now. ]

How many of them were there?

[ An innocuous sort of question, he thinks. Testing the waters just a bit. ]

[cozen]

Four.

[ Excluding the infants who didn’t survive long enough to have names, or at least not names he remembers; excluding the possibility that his parents, still in their early 30s last he saw them, squeezed in a few more for good measure.

A sideways glance to check Byerly’s face again before he adds, ]

An older sister, two younger brothers, and then another sister. The littlest, she was like a fluffy kitten. Hair everywhere and tiny bones.

Do you and Nadine look very much alike?

[bouchonne]

Nearly identical.

[ He answers easily, because it's Bastien, and because he wants to see if there's some reason for that question or if it's just the reflexive attempt to redirect attention away from himself. Even so, though, there's still a twinge of pain thinking on her. ]

Especially our eyes. But she had a sweet face. That was the main difference - she looked kind.

[ Question answered; By casts a glance over, then, a sort of well? ]

[cozen]

Your face is sweet, [ is sincere.

(Not that Bastien is unaware that Byerly’s face begs for a sly, haughty portrait that will make future generations imagine him cruel. But that’s only how he would look posing, his hair neat and his shoulders straight, with all the self-awareness that comes with being scrutinized for hours by a stranger. If the portraitist ever saw him mussed and sleepy and affectionate, the image would come out differently, Bastien is sure.)

As for why he asked: some of A, some of B. He doesn't have point planned out; he's learning not to shy away from Byerly's attention. But it's easier to have things feel like an exchange, and Bastien sorts his own thoughts about himself best through the prism of other people, and he also just wants to know. ]

I like that—that maybe if I ever saw her, I would know right away who she was. Not that I will go looking for her without you, [ in case he sounds like a man planning to meddle. He isn't. ] Not unless it's an emergency or something.

I don't know if I would know them, if I saw them. Maybe Amani. She was old enough, her face might not have changed much.

[bouchonne]

Sweet as oleander honey.

[ Said wryly. He doesn't believe that bit of flattery for one moment. ]

Kaiten isn't far. We could find out.

[cozen]

[ It's a credit to Byerly (and his sweet face) that Bastien does actually think about it instead of slamming shut like that metaphorical clam, making a joke, causing a diversion. But thinking about really, truly seeing them again makes his chest swell with fear and shame that he knows the source of—what if they aren't there; he shouldn't have left them—and miserable, wounded anger that he doesn't.

Identified origins or no, he doesn't know what to do with any of those feelings except step away from them. So after he's thought, he shakes his head, then shakes it again while he says, ] No. No. Thank you, though. If I were ever going to go, I would want you with me. For courage. [ More lightly: ] And to prove you are real. This might shock you, but I used to tell them a lot of wild stories. My lover, the Ambassador—Fereldan nobility, yes, that's right—

[bouchonne]

[ When? When would he have told those stories? When was the last time he spoke to them? By doesn't want to push, but for some reason, he says: ]

I would come with you.

[cozen]

[ Bastien cuts his imaginary conversation off immediately to smile and say, ] I know, [ with confidence that doesn't surprise him anymore. It used to surprise him, to notice himself believing that Byerly would be there in a week or would do what he said he would.

Next he'll be surprised by his lack of surprise. But at the moment, he doesn't really recognize it. ]

Because you are the greatest, and the sweetest— [ he switches his cello to his other arm so he can take Byerly's hand ] —and you could not resist the drama.

[bouchonne]

And because I'd love to find out more about how clever, witty, scheming, darling Bastien came to be.

[ By grips Bastien's hand back, smiles over at him. And, teasingly: ]

Maybe if I know those secrets, I could make more of you. I would enjoy having a hundred or so Bastiens in my life.

[cozen]

[ Bastien looks at him, then at the ground ahead—pleased, flattered, letting that unthreatening interest seep in—and it's only after a few seconds of silence that he says, ]

I am not sharing you with that many people. Ninety-five of them would have to get their own.