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]

[ In that case they are even more surrounded by sinners and heretics than previously thought. ]

Maybe once. You know me.

[ If someone doesn’t give him a reason to laugh he will find his own. ]

But it was serious, yeah. We talked about why she came to Riftwatch and what she wanted. I told her a little about Chevalier—because it sounds a little like that is what it has been like for them, in practice. Living all the time with their Chevaliers.

[bouchonne]

[ Hm. That's...a metaphor that hadn't ever really occurred to Byerly before. And, as a Fereldan, of course, one that resonates.

He does have to ask, though, as an aside - ]

Did they ever trifle with you? Chevaliers?

[cozen]

Not as much as I trifled with them.

[ It has to be said, before he consents to this little list of victimhood: ]

But some, sure. I told Derrica, one tossed me into a canal when I was a boy. And one beat the shit out of me when I was working, once, and I had to let him because, you know. [ Cover. ] The one I killed—he shouldn’t really count, under the circumstances, but if I hadn’t been what I was I would have been far too young for him. So he was trying.

It must be part of their training at the Académie. Swordsmanship in the morning, bullying and entitlement in the afternoon.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly hums in acknowledgment, and uses his thumb to pet Bastien's cheek. No pity there, just sympathy and fondness. ]

I've never understood why they're all like that. There's nothing about being a warrior that makes a person nasty - yet the only decent Chevalier I ever met was Alexandrie's twin sister. The rest of them are bastards. Templars being bastards, at least, you understand a bit, with them needing lyrium and being cut off - But Chevaliers don't have any excuse.

[cozen]

[ Such pillow talk. But Bastien hardly minds. He stretches one arm out, cracks his back, and says, ]

Self-perpetuating, institutional,

[ with a self-aware air; he's a two-penny man using two-Royal words— ]

culture, I'd assume. The same reason you do not find many gentle bards. They all go to the same Academie and learn from the same men, who learned from the same men. And if they are not the kind of people willing to go marauding to kill elves out after curfew, I imagine they are not the kind of people who make it through the training.

[bouchonne]

[ Byerly cannot not comment on that self-aware irony, telling Bastien - ]

You know you're very sexy when your mouth's full of syllables.

[ Is he joking? - No. He appears not to be joking. ]

[cozen]

[ Flopping closer, so he can squash his face against the side of By's in a purposefully clumsy and terrible version of seductive ear-whispering: ]

Profligation. Equanimity. Osculator.

[ The last accompanied, appropriately, by a smushed kiss. Silly, but he does look genuinely pleased, when he inches back into eye-contact distance. ]

Incorrigible.

[bouchonne]

[ Eye contact goes cross-eyed as Byerly leans in to press his own kiss to those beloved lips.

Then, pulling back: ]

But you're right. Clearly nothing to be done but to drive all chevaliers out of their positions.

[cozen]

Now you're very sexy.

[ He settles in comfortably again, arm slung around By's middle. ]

But maybe that is what it feels like to them. Like they are living in a tower with their chevaliers. I can see why they wound up so... testy.

[bouchonne]

Hmm.

[ By considers that. ]

I feel as though the comparison between mages and Orlesian freemen is not quite accurate.

[cozen]

[ Bastien hums agreeably. There are surely a thousand reasons it is not quite accurate, of course. But he's interested in which reasons By is concerned with, specifically, so he says, ]

No?

[bouchonne]

No. For one, a farmer has never singlehandedly killed hundreds of people.

[cozen]

One or two might have, during an Exalted March. But then they would have become soldiers rather than farmers.

And you are right, of course. But what I mean is, I don't think it feels that way to them. The Circle mages have come from a life where everyone can do as they do, so it has been no real advantage to them to be able to create fire in their hands. We can look at Tevinter and imagine a world where they live among us and use their power to take whatever they want, or abominations are taking out villages every week, but that is not a world they have ever lived in. [ He's gone a little meditative-sounding, like he might fall asleep. But he won't. It is actually the sound of him delving into the idea as he voices it, trying to put himself more firmly into their imagined shoes. ] They have only lived in one where everyone is like them, and the Templars can hurt them or the Chantry can decide to execute them all at once and no one will come to help.

[bouchonne]

[ He's quiet a moment, thinking about that, idly scratching Bastien's scalp as he does. He is...right about that, to be sure.

Yet - ]

But they've been with us for years, most of them. It'd be one thing for a newcomer to struggle with that idea. But they've dwelled alongside these Templars - and alongside us - and are still as rigid and uncompromising as on their first day.

[cozen]

They do say magic is connected to will,

[ is a joke, delivered with some quiet huffing laughter. They are all remarkably stubborn. ]

But I don't know. I think—if we set aside all the ways they are not like the elves. If we only think about they feel, after what has happened. Derrica is from Dairsmuid, you know, where they killed everyone. Nearly everyone. [ She does not appear to be dead herself. ] So that is—would we ask an elf from Halamshiral, with family who died in the purge there, to compromise about working with a chevalier? To trust them? Even one who was not there when it happened, they must have been there for other things.

I suppose we might ask it of them. For the sake of the world. Things are pretty dire. And I would admire the elf who was able to see that and do what needed to be done and save their fury for later. But it would leave a bad taste in my mouth, to force it.

[bouchonne]

Hmm.

[ He frowns slightly as he thinks. After several heartbeats of silence, he says: ]

Yes. I would ask it of them. I would force it, if need be.

[ His voice is slow, pensive, and honest. By way of explanation: ]

My country nearly fell once to darkspawn because one man was too lost in his old wounds to see the threat ahead of him. Living in the past means death.

[cozen]

[ Bastien's little frown turns into a sympathetic one, first, and then into a tiny smile, because he loves the future far more than the past, himself. However: ]

Now that is different.

[ Friendly. Very Orlesian. His accent might even have gotten heavier. ]

That was paranoia.

[bouchonne]

Of course. No one can rightly fear an Orlesian, eh?

[ He loves his clown boyfriend. ]

[cozen]

Harmless, all of us.

[ He opens his eyes just to wink one of them. But more seriously: ]

It was not even the Orlesian army wanting to come in and help. It was the Grey Wardens. We were not trying to invade that year at all.

[bouchonne]

I know that. Try telling it to the usurper.

[cozen]

If he comes back here, I will.

It is different, though. It is not only the past for them. It could be the future. It is more like—like if the Blight had been in Orlais, while Orlais was still occupying Ferelden, and we asked Ferelden to come help us stop it. For your own sakes, too, because if the Blight spread you'd be worse than occupied. But without any promises we would withdraw if you helped.

[bouchonne]

The mages are free, now. So not while Orlais was still occupying Ferelden.

[cozen]

[ Bastien—with the luxury of approaching this like a game, or a puzzle—laughs admiringly at the distinction rather than elbowing Byerly in the ribs. ]

I think the Chantry and most of the Templars would say they are loose, not free. So alright. Not while Orlais is still occupying Ferelden. After it has just been pushed back to the border, but was still in arms trying to come back in, and will not promised not to go right back to it when the Blight has been handled.

[bouchonne]

[ A grunt. ]

I'd still expect them to fight. I'd fight.

[cozen]

La bonne chose à faire, [ with quiet admiration; it'd be accompanied by a kiss if he weren't so comfortable and heavy. ] But you wouldn't be happy about it, would you?